There have been a few things that Brent has requested regarding our wedding. One was to have the wedding colors be maize and blue, which are the colors of the University of Michigan. Another was to privately tell each other our vows at our wedding instead of using microphones.
And there were a few more. So, being the great future wife that I am, I shot down all of his suggestions immediately.
But then he came to me a few days ago and said that he felt like he had no say in our wedding (even though I gave him veto power over any decision I made) and really wanted JUST ONE THING as a wedding gift.
How could I turn him down? So I cautiously asked him what it was that he wanted, fearing it would be something like "I want our first dance to be to 'Baby Got Back.'"
"I want you to get a Brazilian," he says.
"You want what now?" I ask him.
Turns out, what he wanted was for me to get a Brazilian bikini wax. As in he wanted me to let a stranger spread hot, sticky wax all over my lady parts before he or she ripped the hair from the hair follicles. As in O-U-C-H!
Here is the part of the story where I say "hell no." And here is also the part where I know Brent and I will be during the entire course of our marriage. He says yes and I say no. Someone is going to win and get what they want, and someone is going to lose and give in. All I hope for our marriage is that there is a balance. I think we're doing a pretty good job so far.
But getting back to the ridiculous, vain, unnecessary beauty procedure that women undergo to benefit (hopefully) only one person. I had to admit that Brent DID have a point about not getting to make many decisions regarding the wedding, and didn't really need to point EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM out. So, like we do in most every situation where we disagree, we compromised.
Though I was apprehensive about getting this particular part of my body waxed, I didn't really have that great of an argument against it because I had never tried it before. And since I pride myself on keeping an open mind with most everything, I agreed to do it, but only if it was a week before the wedding in case something went wrong. I had visions in my mind of being horribly burned or the wax causing some sort of allergic reaction.
So after work today, I reluctantly went to the De Novo Beauty Spa on 55th Street and made a mental note to book a massage so next time I was there I could actually look forward to something.
Instead, I was led to something that looked unsettling like a doctor's office and told to keep my shirt on (duh) but take everything else off. The woman (and I was glad it was a woman. At least then she'd know what I was going through!) who came in seemed to be in a hurry. As I explained that this was my first time, she quickly dismissed my concerns with a wave of the wax-slathered Popsicle stick and said that she's good because she's quick.
The first rip of hair was painful, but surprisingly manageable. But it was also on my bikini line, which, relatively speaking, is not as sensitive an area as, ahem, other parts.
Looking back, I think that first strip didn't hurt as badly because I was anticipating much worse. BUT, that didn't mean that the rest didn't hurt. It did. A lot. The rest was in much more sensitive areas, and since I knew what it felt like, I was able to anticipate the ripping part. That was bad. It was almost bad enough to yell "AHHHHHH KELLY CLARKSON" a la Steve Carell in "The 40-year-old virgin." Almost.
But it was over in a matter of probably 10 minutes, and baby powder was applied to counteract the redness, though I doubt it did much good because the redness lasted for more than 24 hours. But the lady said it would last for four weeks, then told me to come back during the fifth week for another round. Yeah, OK. Sign me up. Riiiiight.
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