As if a waxing appointment wasn't awkward enough, I had one the other day that has prompted a post so I can stop thinking about it! I didn't go to my regular location so I didn't see the woman who usually leaves me bare and smooth and I don't think I'll do that again. I hope my lady never leaves and she'll one day wax my 80 year old legs.
Before I ever had my legs waxed I thought it would be horrifying to lie there half naked, hairy legs exposed, and twisted into unnatural positions while someone else rips my hair out. I can deal with the pain, but I thought I would eventually run out of places to go because how could I face the same person again after she's seen me like THAT? Well, the unexpected thing is that this vulnerability makes me want only one person to help me out. I started feeling protective of myself and now I don't want just anyone seeing me in my undies.
The whole thing was awkward and clunky. I rode my bike there from work and since it was a hot day I was wearing my skorts, which is an awful name by the way. As I waited at lights standing with my bike I could imagine the bicyclists behind me STARING at my man legs wondering why that dude was wearing a pink top and a skort. I could feel the breeze whipping those little long hairs around catching the sun and reflecting them like tinsel. I felt like I took the tassels from my handle bars and stuck them on my legs.
You would think that I'd feel comfortable sitting in the waiting area of a waxing salon among my people, but it turns out most women hide behind pants until their legs are ready to come out in public again. Not me! I sit there with nowhere to hide willing my time to hurry up while trying to cool off and dry my sweat. At last, hurray! Here she comes to bring me back. Oh wait. Did I get the new girl? Awww hell.
I turn into a dork in new situations. I just can't play it cool and look like I know what I'm doing. There at the new location with different decor and a different layout with a different esthetician, there's a different routine. She was soft spoken and timid and as I stood up to greet her she said something, turned, and disappeared down the hallway into the room. Did she ask me to give her a minute? Should I just stand here with my tinsel legs and wait for her to come back? Is she waiting for me in the room wondering where I am? When will she come back for me? Why am I just STANDING here? Maybe she asked me to come on back. Just a minute. Come on back. They don't even have the same number of syllables. What did she SAY? Why would she come out for me if she wasn't ready, right? OK I'm going back and I hope I don't walk in one someone naked.
It turns out she wasn't ready and I startled her when she turned around. It became an Eddie Izzard moment, "Oh, I....sorry, should I.....oh, I'll just....ok." Somehow she was also communicating it was ok, go ahead and put the bag down and hop up on this table. And because I just HAD to explain myself I tried to tell her what was going through my head in the waiting area, but sometimes it's just better to smile and move on. I forget that just because I surround myself with people who GET me, who are all a little bit out of the ordinary, the normal unsuspecting stranger isn't necessarily going to think it's as funny as I do. Yeah.
I don't understand the practice of leaving the room for privacy while I take off my stupid skort when in just a couple of minutes she'll see me in my underwear anyway. I quickly wiggled out of my bike stuff, sat on the table, and oh no not THIS AGAIN! Which way should I have my legs? OK that way - there's where the wax pot is. But wait, should I be on my back or my stomach? Why doesn't this lady speak up and give me some instruction? Well, I'll just sit here with this ridiculous tea towel covering half my lap. After forever has passed she finally came back in looking confused that I wasn't in The Position. And it never got better.
After she started doing her thing, I couldn't hear what she was mumbling so I'm not sure if she was making conversation or giving me instructions. Eventually I stopped saying, "what?!" and decided to just smile. And when she would suddenly move my leg I'd startle and stiffen in surprise and she'd be wrestling with my locked leg trying to maneuver me into a pose. It must have looked funny. I think we fed off each others awkwardness and I never relaxed like I do with the woman I usually see. Thankfully I was not there for a Brazilian and I'm used to this kind of torture because she hadn't quite mastered a technique. It was more painful than usual.
In the end it was worth it. The cool breeze soothed my legs on the ride home and I didn't even mind standing at the lights. I had hoped I'd impress the other bikers with my smooth legs, but that appointment took so long that I was the lone bicyclist on the normally crowded spandex highway. At least now I can continue to wear my skort even if I do get that weird summer tan line.
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