There's A New Sheriff In Bikini Waxing Town

Her name is Kim. Well, actually, we highly doubt that her real name is Kim, just as we doubt that her co-workers--none of whom speak English--are actually named "Liz," "Stacey," or "Kate." But, she's called "Kim" on her nametag, so Kim it will be.

And Kim hates body hair. She cannot abide it. If Kim were a superhero--which, let's face it, she might be--her mission on earth would be to seek out body hair in all corners of the world, and smite it.

Kim The Bikini-Waxing Avenger would wear an outfit made entirely of linen strips, her arms would shoot hot wax from the wrists, and she would wield The Golden Tweezers of Infinite Doom. Italian men with back hair would quake with terror at the mere mention of her name.

I can't decide if I think she has a sidekick. She may have had one at some point, and he pissed her off, so she waxed him to death.

I'm serious about this.

Kim does not fuck around.

Whenever I am on a table with my legs spread in the air for a new aesthetician, I make some disparaging comment about women and how crazy we are for undergoing the skin-tearing torture that is The Bikini Wax. It is my version of Bikini Wax Small Talk.

I made such a comment while on Kim's crinkly paper-covered waxing table last week.

"Boy, we women are crazy to do this, aren't we?" I said, laughing lamely.

Kim looked up sharply.

For a moment, I thought she might hit me.

Before I tell you what she told me, let me just say that Kim may have learned English from listening to the adults on the Peanut's cartoons. And though it is fair to say that--to her credit--her English is a hell of a lot better than my Mandarin, it is also fair to say that the adverb which best describes the way that Kim speaks English is: barely.

So I really have no idea what Kim said to me so vehemently, as she ripped the hair from my body.

None at all.

BUT, because I am me, I will tell you what I think she said.

I think she told me that her husband married her because she had a hairless pussy.

I would, in fact, testify to this in a court of law.

For Kim, then, body hair has no place in a healthy relationship. And once she found out that I have a boyfriend,

Kim.

Went.

To town.

I'll spare you the gory details, but, suffice it to say, at one point she pulled out a magnifying lens.

A MAGNIFYING LENS.

Show of hands. Who here has ever had someone pull out a fucking magnifying lens during a bikini wax? Yeah. Thought so.

Let me just tell you, it is an intense experience--probably for all involved. As far as awkward goes: off the charts. As far as baby-bottom smoothness goes: you have no idea. I'm considering asking David to guest blog a testimonial.

Bottom Line: My arm hair is still traumatized from the experience, afraid that I'll unleash Kim on it next. Last night, my arm hairs actually woke me up, their tiny, follicle voices screaming from fear.

And as soon as I teach them some Christmas carols, I am so having all of you over for dinner.