I’m probably not the first to admit that I failed at waxing. On a day where I felt like motherhood was kicking my ass, I bought a Hair Remover Wax Strip kit in hopes of eliminating the nightly shaving of my bikini line. I know it’s winter, but something about actually getting around to shaving every day, makes me feel like I managed my day appropriately.
I’ve never been waxed professionally. I figure, if I take care of it myself, no one has to see me naked. I won’t feel judged for my stretch marks or places I can’t reach with a razor, or places I am not daring enough to go. I don’t have to discuss the parts a professional can or cannot wax. Nor do I have to embarrass myself with uncontrollable screaming that may escape, letting another person do their job down there. I don’t have to seek out child care, because this is one appointment I just can’t take my two young daughters to.
The last time I tried waxing was in the freakish heat of May in 2003. I’d given birth six months prior and was losing weight rapidly, anticipating wearing a bathing suit fairly soon. It was a little tub of wax from CVS that I planned to heat up in the microwave, spread on to the parts of my body that I would like to wax, let cool and then rip off, hopefully with just hair, not skin.
I got through the part of heating up the wax in the microwave and spreading it on. I waited and the cooling part was a challenge. That it was in the 80s that day and humid meant that the wax never cooled and I found myself in desperation, sitting in the unfinished part of our basement on the cold cement, naked, hoping it would cool off enough so I could peel off the wax.
In the end, I soaked myself in a combination of baby oil and “Goo Gone”, after looking up my dilemma on the internet. I managed after about a two hour ordeal, to get it off, leaving a sticky residue that stuck to my underwear for the next four days.
Since then, I’ve resorted to the good old razor.