Sunday, November 20, 2005

Uncharted Territory

This afternoon I went to see Miranda. Miranda is a pretty special person in my life. Miranda is my waxer.

Like teen pop, body hair is generally considered an inevitable yet undesirable occurrence. Salons all over the city exist for the sole purpose of helping New Yorkers deal with unavoidable fuzz. Perusing the list of services that Miranda provides, I've realized that people apparently need to eliminate hair in places I had no idea you could even grow hair. From the backs of your knees to the space above your ass, for a small fee, Miranda and her colleagues will happily yank away.

I'm not a particularly hairy person, so my wax experiences are normally limited to shaping my eyebrows. The one notable exception occurred prior to my honeymoon in Costa Rica. It was then that Miranda waxed my bikini line. Up until that point, my bikini line was pretty much uncharted territory. I had a live and let live attitude towards it. I left it alone, and it basically kept to itself. Like most New York neighbors, we had a peaceful co-existence of ignoring one another.

Upon realizing that I was about to spend a week in a bathing suit, however, I decided that perhaps it was time to have a bit of an intervention. That's how I found myself one afternoon lying bottomless on the waxing table in Miranda's clinical cubicle. Feeling a bit like a character from X-rated anime, I tried to ignore the awkwardness that typically results when you find yourself naked from the waist down. In spite of my timidity, Miranda did not seem phased. With the dexterity of a neurosurgeon, Miranda got up close and personal with my bikini line. She went where no woman had gone before. Had she wanted to plant a tiny flag to commemorate the occasion, it would have been appropriate.

After a few minutes that felt like an uncomfortable eternity, Miranda's work was done. She gave me a mirror and motioned for me to examine her work. "What do you think?" she asked. Given that I had never really looked at my own bikini line, let alone anyone else's, I had no idea what to say. What adjective can you possibly use to describe a bikini line? Cute, pretty, svelte? I ended up just muttering, "Um, yeah, it looks...very clean." This appeared to satisfy Miranda, and she nodded her head briskly in agreement. She then gave me my pants and told me to pay on my way out. I felt like I needed a cigarette afterwards.

Since then, Miranda and I have reverted back to an eyebrow relationship. She doesn't seem to mind, and I think my bikini line is much happier for it. The three of us have slipped back into happily ignoring eachother's existence, and let's face it, that's really where you want to be most of the time anyway.

Ms. J

3 Comments:

Anonymous Mark said...

I know what you mean. I feel the same way everytime I go to confession and the priest says that I have to take off all of my clothes to repent. I mean, I know he's just doing his job, but is that really necessary? It just seems dirty, IMHO.

12:35 PM  
Blogger Berry said...

You ladies who are brave enough to do this have my respect. And such an unselfish public service you are providing. :-) My frind Alli also blogged about her bikini wax process.I notice you neglected to mention the pain factor...I love the analogies you used :-)

3:49 PM  
Blogger J & J said...

You forget that in addition to yourself and Miranda, there's someone else who is better off never having any idea of your bikini wax's existence, namely your brother.

Please never speak of this again.

Mr. J

7:20 PM  

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