Wax rhapsodic

[n.b. if you are a blood relative of Megarita, you may want to skip this post. It will be somewhat graphic and probably therapy-inducing for some. I'm feeling a little over-share-ish.]

I went in to my beloved Russian aesthetician today for a farewell wax. She's about to burst with a baby (due next week), so I wanted to make sure I got a last shot at the most hurtless waxing in the world. In fact I got so cocky about her mad skills that I decided to go in for a Brazilian.

(Readers of my former blog might recall that I was under the mistaken impression that I was indeed getting a brazilian for years. My Russian friend was the one who cleared things up for me with the infamous, "not Brazilian" comment, which led me to dub my particular procedure the Uruguayan. Really, any excuse to say "Montevideo" with a Nacho Libre accent. Any excuse.)

So I swung by the little bodega between my place and the House that Hairlessness Built and bought wine just in case this process was less friendly than I anticipated. Good thinking. Then I trotted in and merrily greeted my gal, marveled at her enormous tummy and glowing countenance, and dropped trou.

This is the amazing part of the experience to me: the inane banter that happens when you're having a bikini wax. I referred to it as "pantsless small talk" in an email earlier today, which made me all the more aware of it this afternoon.

Before I recreate, let me me 'splain a few things.
First, the Brazilian requires more maneuvering than I expected. I mean, thank god for bendiness.
Second, it hurts like a mothersmurfer, as all waxes do the first time, but you cannot YELL ("Kelly Clarkson!") because you are too busy chatting and smiling fiercely.

We chatted about her latest move, my move, her unborn baby (a boy), why Georgia will be terrific in the winter, what Atlanta's like, and so on. All the while she's spreading important and very tender regions with hot wax, placing linen strips on them, pressing down, and yanking. Like I said, this girl is the best wax handler I've ever had. I adore her. But this was something new.

I believe it sounded something like this, but you have to read the sound effects in a totally non-sexual way:

Her: So what have you been up to?
Me: Well, I've been packing a good bit since I'm moving [mm!?] soon.
Her: You are! [rip] I just moved as well!
Me: No kidding! Where [ugh] to?
Her: Out to the county. About five minutes further than our other place.
Me: That's not [hiss!] so bad, then. I bet you have more [uh!] space, though!
Her: So much more! And we're redoing the floors, too, so that it will be clean for the baby.
Me: Wow. Is it a ren[ooow]vation job? Are you doing it yourself?
Her: My husband does it. I am too big now.
Me: [gasp!] What kind of floors are you putting in? [deeeeeep inhale]
Her: Oh, nice pine [this sort of fades out for me, because my knees are around my ears and I'm a little dizzy with the pain and with where the wax is going]
Me: Mmmhmmm. . [ah!]. . .baby's room?. . [whispered dammit!]
Her: Not ready yet. Hold on to something.
Me: Hold on to. . [high pitched gasp!?] jesus!
Her: You want everything gone?
Me: Nononononononono [grunt] save a bit there. . .yeah. . .save something. [deep breathing, small sniffle]

Basically it was like a mashup of a martial arts movie and a 1950s hen party. Kind of like Auntie Mame meets Enter the Dragon. Or something. Lots of homemaking tips intermingling with expelled air, grunting, and some talking through gritted teeth.

I am amazed at how pedestrian it all seems. Two women discussing the weather in the American southeast while one is all up in the other's issues. The ripping makes it different than a gynocological appointment, which has a lot more nervous blathering in my case, but it's still the most mundane thing in the world. Yet you have no pants on and you are biting down on a towel so you won't punch the nice pregnant lady in the face.

And then we were done and we chatted some more while I dazedly paid more than usual and tipped a wad of bills and wished her well before walking out to the street with a very surprised look on my face. There's a lot of air around, people, and I can feel every molecule. Be careful.