We’re alive! As some may have noticed Smokinhotbooks has been MIA for a bit, KC’s been operating on two hours of sleep and K-Khan has no real excuse other than she sold her soul to the world of public accounting. Now that K-Khan’s got into nursing school she has a bit more time on her hands.
Smokinhotbooks Attempts At-Home Waxing
Ever since my esthetician (aka lady parts waxer) showed up to our appointment in two full-length wrist guards and told me about her battle with carpel tunnel, I’ve felt it best that we part ways. How could I continue to contribute to her condition with my blood money? It’s also time to cut down on ‘needless expenses’ (expression courtesy of Mr. K) since I will be going back to school full time. So while on a shopping trip to the drug store I couldn’t help but notice that they had at home waxing kits. A perfect solution for my current situation. So in the cart it went, along the Cadbury chocolate and other important necessities.
I am now realizing that with all this extra time on my hands the boredom has made me almost manic in my quest for vain self-improvements. God forbid I spend in hour in the gym versus watching You-Tube videos on how to update your ‘dated’ eye make-up look. Yes, a smokey eye will somehow enact enough camouflage so that the spare tire you seem to have grown over the stress eating you’ve been doing lately will somehow disappear.
Moving on, I meticulously set up my instruments of torture. Microwave wax melted to just about scalding check, little spatulas, check, little hand held mirror that was included with the kit, check, emergency oil to remove wax, check, and strips? Wait, no strips? How is one to do the pat and yank technique without those white strips? After re-reading the instructions again, I realized I might have made a clerical error in my purchase. See, this was a hard wax, not to be confused with the soft wax I’m used to. Apparently, I’m to apply this wax and leave enough to gather at the ends to just yank it off myself. Well, that has to be easy…right? On goes the first application. Half of it appears to get on my leg and the other half plops to the floor. Great, well, that’s to be expected with us beginners. So I let the wax start to cool. Since I can’t really remember what the instructions say on when exactly to start the yanking, I just go with my gut and start pulling. OH MY F-ING GOD! You, Sally Hansen are an F-ing lier! My first yank only pulls up about a quarter of an inch of wax. The panic starts to set in. The next yank and again, only about a quarter of an inch of wax pulls off. Now I’m furiously tearing, echoes of ‘don’t leave the wax on too long’ are resounding in my head as I viscously yank on the now candle hard wax. Pain level is now at a 10, bleeding has started to occur and I’m still panicking because I have at least four more inches of wax to yank off. After almost 20 minutes of pulling off little tiny pieces of wax look at what I have done to myself.
Where did I go wrong? Was my timing off? Maybe my yanking angle was too severe? Those arrows on the drawing said one way, but maybe my interpretation is off? I blot at the sweat that is running down my nude body. (But of course you have to be nude because how else are you going to ensure to not get any wax on your clothes)? I realize that this was not exactly a great idea, not only is the pain unbearable but the bending at odd angles and pulling on my skin is not exactly helping my self-image here and is damn distracting to my hairless cause. ’Oh god is this really what I look like’? (Tries sucking in tummy). And that the little “No Mistakes Mirror” (provided by Ms. Sally Hansen herself) is a tool to make you hate yourself. “Oh Jesus is that what it looks like”? Now, I can never pay someone to do this to me again, it’s just all too graphic. Thanks’ No Mistakes Mirror, I now have another complex.
After convincing myself that I should at least try just one more area since I’ve read the directions for the fourth time and should definitely be more successful in my efforts. On goes the now almost solidified wax, no time to run to the microwave again, Mr. K could be getting up at any moment. Oh god, the pain is now twice as worse. The pieces even smaller and I was overly generous with my application and now I can’t get it off. There’s no way Mr. K could possible be sleeping through my grunts and expletives. Rip. ‘Aw Jesus’! Rip, Rip, Rip. ‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh’! The door to the bathroom rattles, “What the hell are you doing in there”!? I have my leg bent at a most unseemly angel on the counter, my ‘No Mistakes Mirror’ has been placed on the covered toilet seat and wax particles are littered all over the floor.
Now the banging has started, “Let me in”! My response, “Can’t you tell that this one is OCCUPIED”! “Go the McDonalds if you have to go”. More rips and grunts ensue.
Mr. K “What the hell are you doing!”
I am beaten. I have no more fight in me. Wax I refuse to rip off is littered all over my body, the bathroom floor is a mess, and to complete my humiliation I now have two bald spots and the ‘healing oil’ I’m furiously rubbing everywhere is not taking off the excess wax. I yank open the door and walk out in a huff. Nevermind that my face looks like I’ve run a half marathon, or that I’m limping, I still have my dignity. I grab the contents of my at home waxing kit and viciously shove it all in the trash. $15.00 down the toilet. I sniff a little bit and state that I was attempting to wax myself at home. Mr. K’s perplexed response, “Why didn’t you just use my nose hair trimmers?”
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