The three women leaned over the table and peered at me
through their black sunglasses. I could
see my startled reflection and adjusted my own sunnies over my nose.
“Would you
describe this as fine, medium or thick?” The women exchanged glances, chewed
their lips politely and blurted “Medium.
Definitely medium.”
I mentally punched the air, I was winning. I thought
they’d say thick, for sure.
Yesterday I read on Facebook, that my local beauty parlour
was looking for test dummies…er… models, for IPL Hair Reduction
training. I quickly suggested that they could use me, goodness knows there’s
enough unwanted hair to around.
A quick
phone call to me: “How about we do a half-leg’ the girl suggests. “What do I do the other half a leg?” I
pondered. “We already have an underarm. Perhaps….” (she pauses for quite a long
time) “perhaps we could do a bikini leg?” I have to stop and think about this,
for about 2 seconds. Yes please, I find
myself yelling. After all, don’t my two
sisters constantly barrage me with suggestions for whipper-snippers, waxing and
everything else that involves pain and excess hair in my nether regions?
When I arrived at the Salon, I was given a small parcel. “Just
pop this on please.” I hold the small white package up to my face; I have no
idea what I am looking at. “Once you have on your disposable g-string, I’ll be
back” and she closes the door leaving me still holding onto my mystery object.
Now this is embarrassing!
After working out
the front and back and which goes where, I lay on the narrow table.
“I’m ready,” I lie.
And so my life has come to this, being peered at by three
strangers, wearing sunglasses and discussing my fluffy bits. I go to a happy
place, and close my eyes.
“Just move your leg to a right angle” and I die of shame.
Soon the first laser treatment begins.
“How would you rate that on a scale of ten?” Is she kidding me?
“About a one” I say, but then again, I’ve had
two natural childbirths, so anything you throw at me is always measured against
that standard. This is nothing!
“Turn it up ladies” she commands, and the trainee
dutifully turns the dial.
“How about now?” she asks in what I swear was an Austin Power’s
Mini Me voice. Mentally I do the finger
quotes – “L A S E R S”
“About a 1 and a
half.” I feel strong and powerful! The girls exchange glances and then the words:
“Turn it right up!” I am worried now;
perhaps I shouldn’t have been so strong, so stoic. I imagine the laser setting fire to my nether
regions and burly firemen breaking into the chandeliered beauty parlour.
“What’s happening? Where’s the fire?”
The three young women would all point to my exploding pubes, as the firemen douse the flames.
“What’s happening? Where’s the fire?”
The three young women would all point to my exploding pubes, as the firemen douse the flames.
I return to my happy place
and leave them to work on my bikini line.
In her enthusiasm, the new trainee rushes the job just a
bit: Flash! Flash! Flash! It feels like cracker night in my undies.
“Just slow
down, make sure you don’t leave any lines, you must get it all.” she commands, and
I imagine my bikini line looking like a zebra, complete with black lines in a
natty pattern.
I sigh.
One way or the other I’ll be the talk of
the beach, but I doubt anyone will even look me in the eye; they’ll all be
staring at my you-know-what!
After 15
minutes I’m done, and after dressing, I stroll out into the sunlight, to the
other world of normality, and begin to skip.
Posts
