Turning The Corner

The closest analogy I can think of for rosas are Pringles; but in the “once you pop you just can’t stop” way, not the “less greasy chip that you put in your mouth and pretend to be a duck” way. Before my first wax, I was almost completely unaware that hair down there was something I should have been paying attention to. Just imagine my embarrassment when a girl at camp told me that I should really shave it so that hair wasn’t showing from my swimsuit, followed by the complete confusion of what to do about it after hearing another camper scream from her bunk, “NEVER SHAVE YOUR VAGINA. IT ITCHES LIKE HELL”. Yeah, that was the exact review that would turn me off of shaving for years to come.

My mom offered to pay for my first bikini wax as I was getting ready to go to the beach for a week right after my high school graduation. Nowmy hometown is far from the mecca of waxing opportunities that is Boston. I mean sure, around every corner there’s a nail salon owned by women of a variety of Asian descents that will wax your eyebrows until they’re as thin as a needle, but very few that will spend the time oogling your private parts making sure that not a follicle of hair is left. Except for the place my mom found, decorated to the 9s in leopard print, tassels, lamps with pink shades and black fringe — basically my living hell. I was taken into the back room, told to completely undress, and lie on the table as the woman took my waxing virginity.

“Up this far ok honey?” She said.

“Uhh, yeah” I said, too embarrassed to even look.

But then it lasted for a month! A whole month! And each time I went back less and less hair was there to rip away. And then a few times I made the mistake of only going every once in a while and shaving in between. Big mistake. Shaving your vag really DOES itch. So I popped, and now I can’t stop.

Let’s just say I’ve come a long way in my bikini waxing attitude. I feel relaxed in the low-key, nothing fancy, family owned Rosa establishment. I laugh awkwardly while Rosa shoves my underwear to one side while talking about her children. I’m ok making up stories about how I plan on going to Florida for Christmas break when really I’m just prepping so that I feel adequately groomed to streak the quad with 500 other undergrads in the middle of winter. I had formed a relationship with Rosa, she knew that I respond relatively well to waxing, and if I go on a regular basis it’s barely painful. She reminds me to breath throughout the process and gives me a discount since she knows I’m a loyal customer. And then she told me to turn over.

Now, I’d been getting full on Brazilians from Rosa for maybe a year until she decided to up her game and turn the corner. She totally took me by surprise, which in all examples of back door euphemisms, is just never a good situation. I’ve been in uncomfortable situations of nudity – the story about the public shower in Northern China is for another time, and another blog entirely – and have learned that in situations like this, it’s really best, well, to grin and bear it. So I shamefully turned over, buried my face in the towel so that she couldn’t see how beet red my facial cheeks were (I couldn’t see the color of the other cheeks) and obliged to her command to pull the cheeks apart while she cleaned up the back. On my walk of shame home, I realized that it wasn’t even the ass up in Rosa’s face aspect that bothered me – I mean hell, she’d just been 4 inches away from the most intimate of regions for at least 15 minutes – it was really the harsh realization that there is hair back there! Sort of like seeing a guy with a really hairy back, whose hair goes well down below the beltline; very few things are more of a turn off in my book. But then the next thought – if there’s always been hair there that she hadn’t been taking care of, then was there this just weird ass/vag hairline that had been hanging around for the past year? Did my lady parts just really look like a balding man’s head.

But then I let it all go as my newly smooth cheeks rubbed together during the walk home.

Letting Rosa reach around the corner was like opening a container of Sour Cream and Onion Pringles after already being addicted to the Regular variety.