I’ve regularly been on the painful (yet liberating) receiving end of a Brazilian bikini wax since I was 18. I wasn’t even having sex back then—I just liked the way it looked.  I leave a little bit at the top, but not too much, because I fucking hate hair. Especially, you know, THAT hair. It’s too sticky and curly and unruly. Anyway. The Brazilian wax is both a wonderful and terrifying experience, and it almost always goes like this:

  1. Morning: I’m so excited I’m FINALLY getting a wax today! It means a) I’m gonna have sex soon (!!!) b) I’m gonna look less like a ‘70s porn star and/or c) I’m gonna be sporting a bikini ASAP, which means it’s either summer (YASSS!) or I’m traveling somewhere warm (DOUBLE YAASSSS!).
  2. In the reception area: I’ve totally got this.  I don’t even to take aspirin beforehand! I’m so badass. I’ll be out in a flash, and then I can get going on those errands…
  3. In the room: Soothing music. I mean, it’s pretty much a farce, but I appreciate it. Pants off. Underwear off. Let’s sliiiide on the table. I wonder how she knows when I’m ready. She must hover behind the door and wait for the crinkle of the paper….
  4. Preparing the wax: It’s oddly comforting that we are discussing the weather right before she’s going to rip hairs from my cooch. I do feel somewhat relaxed. For now.
  5. Officially spread eagle: Well, this is happening. I wonder how many ladies she’s serviced in her day? I wonder how many women have serviced me? There was the Australian in high school, then the Russian ladies in college, then there was the Vietnamese woman I met during that emergency session. Oh, and then there was that burly broad who was actually quite gentle, and—
  6. The first rip: OMG! Oh. OK. Not that bad, not that bad. I’m basically numb down there. Wait. That’s not a good thing, right?
  7. More ripping: She wants to make small talk now? Well, maybe it will take my mind off this part. I hate it when she gets RIGHT IN THERE. I mean, I get it, but… Ok. Just focus on your breathing. Go to that happy place of kittens. Listen to the babbling brook music. Not working, not working. OK, lady, you know what? Maybe this part isn’t necessary. I can leave this part alone. I’ll just tell her to skip it, no biggie. Oh, she asked me a question. Can’t she see that I’m in the middle of something?
  8. Legs up: What if I wasn’t this nimble? How do uncoordinated people get their legs up this high? What if I hit her in the middle of the face right now? Knocked her out cold? Then what? How would I get this wax off me? I could never self-wax my bikini area. I wonder if she waxes her own bikini area. How does that work? Are we almost done?
  9. Turn over: I don’t remember the last time I was told to turn over…Oh, yes, I do. Hmm.
  10. Loading the cream on: I can’t believe she has to rub lotion on women’s vaginas ALL DAY LONG. This is a dream job for some, I’m sure. I would hate it. How am I not turned on by this? Well, I mean, I shouldn’t be turned on by this, she basically just massacred me. What if I was turned on, though? Why am I thinking about sex right now? I’m sooooo sore. What kind of cream is this? It smells nice.
  11. At the front desk: I did it! It feels great. Breezier. Yes, I’ll make another appointment. Thank GOD it’s five weeks away. Phew.