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I Got My Back Waxed This Weekend

teenwolf

With a column title like this, you’d think that you might have stumbled onto a different site. Possibly our sister site, Total Sorority Move. But, alas, no, this is simply a tale of how a 23-year-old Jewish guy walked into a waxing salon and somehow went from looking like Chewbacca with my shirt off to, well, Princess Leia in her gold bikini.

Background: I’ve been getting my eyebrows waxed since I was a Senior in High School. I thought it was hella embarrassing at first, but then I realized that nobody wants to date a guy that looks like Martin Scorsese without any of the skills necessary to BE Martin Scorsese, so I did it. I’ve talked about it before, and I think it’s something everyone should do. It makes you look cleaner and better. But getting your eyebrows waxed is a 10-15 minute procedure, like 4-5 strips of wax, a little plucking with some tweezers, and you’re done. In and out. Doing my back was like nothing I had ever experienced before.

My friend, we’ll call her S, is a wonderful Estetician, which I learned is a fancy word for “waxing lady.” She’s been doing an incredible job on my eyebrows and regaling me with her tales of her propensity for dating men who look like Serge Ibaka for years now — which I always appreciate. A couple of weeks ago, she told me that she’s training a new girl for waxing and wanted to know if I wanted to come in for a free waxing. You know, because she loves me and knows my dream of being completely hairless, like a Filipino child. She’s been bugging me to do my back and shoulders for ages. So I said sure, why the hell not.

I get to the waxing salon and I’m nervous as all hell. I’m shaking. I sit down with my favorite receptionist, let’s call her B, and we chat until they call my name. I meet E, the new girl, and she leads me down the hall to my room. I feel like I’m walking down death fucking row, let me tell you. This isn’t one of the rooms near the reception area where they do the easy waxing, this is one of the ones in the back, where you’re so far away from reception, they can’t hear you scream. The Brazilians, the full bodies, God-knows-what else is going on back there, but my god, it sounds like an German Sex Dungeon.

E puts me in the room, makes me take my shirt off and lays me down on the bed. Trust me, it’s about as un-sexy as it sounds. I think the poor girl had a panic attack after seeing the rug of fur on my chest, back, arms and shoulders. She lays some hot wax on my back in strips and 1…2…3, rips it off and OH MY GOD DOES IT BURN LIKE HELLFIRE. I try to maintain my composure but after two or three strips I’m screaming at this poor woman like I’m drunk and she’s trying to steal my pizza.

And it’s not a fast process, either. It’s insane. First they take the hair off layer by layer, ripping it downward, then they do the same thing, ripping it upward. Then, for good measure, they do another layer, just because. At this point, my friend S comes in, and they’re both doing me at the same time. This is like my wildest fantasy gone horribly wrong. Then B, the receptionist comes in, and she’s just watching this whole thing go down and it’s quite possibly the most humiliating, somehow beautiful thing that’s ever happened? I don’t know, I think we all shared a moment. I was pretty much fully aroused. Three beautiful women starting at me shirtless and covered in Blue Wax? I mean, this is the story I’ll tell my grandkids. “Dear Penthouse Forum, I never thought it would happen to me, but…”

There was also a fantastic sub-plot going on with S discovering the wrapper for a pregnancy test left on the floor of the Waxing Salon’s bathroom. Turns out, another patron that came in while I was in the receptionist area asked if there was a CVS pharmacy nearby. She ran out the door to the CVS at the other end of the shopping center, then asked to use the bathroom. You don’t have to be Scooby Doo to put that mystery together. Never a dull moment at the Waxing Salon.

All in all, the process took two full hours. It took TWO esteticians to do the job, and a full vat of wax. Seriously. They almost ran out. The garbage can was empty when I walked into the room; it was overflowing with hairy wax strips and wax applicators. My back is insanely smooth, weirdly itchy, and still hurts if someone touches it in the right spot. And now I’ll probably have to go back every few weeks to make sure it doesn’t go back to making me look like a Grizzly Bear in heat.

But that’s the price of beauty, right fellas? 10/10, would do again.

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