Hi folks, thanks again for all the funny joikes, they surely do brighten my day, Lynda
This is funny. (I don't have a
clue as to who wrote this, but....WHAT A
HOOT!) All hair removal methods
have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The
Epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax. Read on.........
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in
my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe should pull the waxing kit out of
the medicine cabinet."
So I headed to the site of my demise: the
bathroom. It was one of
those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot
wax, you just rub the
strips together in your hand, they get warm and you
peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull
the hair right off.
No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm
not a genius, but I
am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA
THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each
other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks
in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold
wax,"
yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin
around it
tight and pull. It works!
OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't
too bad. I can do this!
Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah,
fighter of all wayward
body hair and maker of smooth skin
extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the
kids, I
sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting
championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet.
Using
the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side
of my
bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching
down to the
inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip)
I inhale deeply and brace
myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY
GAWD!!!!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off
half the
strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning
and
spotted.
I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...must
stay conscious. Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to
normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has
caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel
in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the
strip!
There's no hair on it.
Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE
WAX???
&g t;Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the
toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip...it's not! I
touch. I am
touching wax.
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part
of my body, which is now
covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make
the next BIG
mistake...remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I
know I
need to do something. So I put my foot down.
Sealed shut! My butt
is sealed shut. Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to
figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge
to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax?
Hot
water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into
the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt
and I can gently wipe it off, right???
*WRONG!!!!!!!*
I get in the tub -
the water is slightly hotter than that used to
torture prisoners of war or
sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having
your nether regions glued
together, is having them glued together and then
glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water.
Which, by the
way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as
though I had cemented
myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had
convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I
call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some
secret of
how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter
"So, my butt and
hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"
There is a slight
pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal
but she does try to
hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is
located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?"
She's laughing out loud
by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the
number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of
someone else's night. While
we go through various solutions. I resort to
trying to scrape the wax
off with a razor . Nothing feels better than to
have your girlie goodies
covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in
super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain
is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going
to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is
still talking with me when I finally see my saving
grace....the lotion they
give you to remove the excess wax.
Wha t do I really have to lose at this
point? I rub some on and OH MY
GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids
and scared the dickens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really
don't care. "IT WORKS!!
It works !!" I get a hearty congratulation from my
friend and she hangs
up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and
then notice to
my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF
IT!
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing
hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.
Next week I'm
going to try hair color......
Although I haven't gone through all of these "phases", I thought they were pretty funny and a nice comical way to look at life. Hope you get a laugh out of some of these.
Why Women Are Crabby
We started to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would snap until we had calluses on our backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) was having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then it was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.
Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we peed our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.
Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hear-me-roar. Calm down and push. Just one more good push (more like ?10)," warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the holy %*#!* (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10 lb. bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.
Then come their "Teen Years." Need I say more?
When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.
So we progress into the grand finale: "The Menopause" the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.
Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks...
So, while I love being a woman, "Womanhood" would make the Great Gandhi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite me.
Oh my god........those were GREAT!