That’s the Last Time I Let My Husband Give Me a Brazilian wax

That’s the Last Time I Let My Husband Give Me a Brazilian wax

It really doesn’t matter if you are single, married, gay or straight, everyone takes pride in the appearance of their privates (at least they should), women especially. Come on ladies, admit it, it’s the one area we seem to obsess over. We take extra care in the hygiene, condition and attractability of our featured lady part and the Almighty Creator sure didn’t make the maintenance of that thing easy!

The Classy Cooch

Our beauty box isn’t exactly camera ready any minute of the day, am I right? The upkeep on this this thing is costly and never seems to end. A few of our braver sisters take the low maintenance road and abstain from introducing a razor to the eager beaver but that’s not for me. I’d worry my husband would need a weed-whacker and a Haz-Mat suit just to explore. I prefer the sexy and classy but costly Brazilian Wax for my upkeep. Nothing says sexy more than having a complete stranger approach you while spread eagle under fluorescent lighting and ripping hot zinc wax off our labia and then sprinkled it with a little baby powder to cushion the blow.

How Much For the Landscaping?

After routinely suffering the $70 a month maintenance fee to keep my land down under smooth as silk I decided to ask my husband to wax it for me. At the time I was a retired massage therapist managing a day spa and just couldn’t bring myself to have one of my employees do the job. Somehow facing the possibility that I may have to fire someone who has seen the in-grown hairs on my unbearded oyster made me uncomfortable. Being in the business I had accessibility to the necessary products and tools, I even had a massage table set up at home where we could wax our way to saving $70 better spent on a bar tab. How hard can waxing the Cave of Wonders be?

Scaredy Puss

My husband needed a little convincing before he agreed to give it a try. He had concerns about hurting me, burning me, tearing off skin, leaving scars, blah, blah, blah, saving 70 bucks a month here! I think he was more concerned about the preservation of his own personal cock pocket than my actual safety.

No Backing out the Back Door

Being married I had no shame in laying naked from the waist down exposing to him my promise land in all its glory. Once I was settled on the massage table I stretched my arms back, drew my ankles up, rolled me knees back and counted my blessings I was married to such a supportive, strong man. However the man peering over me looked more like a man taking his final walk into the Proctologist’s office. My husband was beet red in the face, dripping wet with sweat and his hands were shaking. So much for my rock. I could see if I didn’t act quickly he was going to back out. I lovingly encouraged him to get to work by threatening to never shave or wax another body part for the next 5 years unless he manned-up, grew a pair and ripped hot wax off my pink canoe!                                  

Ready, Set, Rip

After practicing the steps to be taken and having a mock run we were ready. My determined and motivated man smears the warm soothing wax to the left side of my flower, applies the muslin strip, then calmly and confidently smoothes the strip out. Next he grasps a corner of cloth to begin a pull and instead of pulling down in the direction of my body he pulls the muslin cloth straight up in the air.

How Was That?

Next I know my ass and mid-section are being pulled off the table with all the force he has; as if the goal was to levitate me toward the ceiling. With an audible splat I land back on the table panting, trying to catch the wind that was knocked out of me while simultaneously reaching for my lady-bits to make sure it’s still there. Once recovered I look over to my husband who is holding a cloth strip with pieces of wax, hair, skin and I swear a follicle, and asks me, “How was that?”

Pay Any Amount for The Pro’s

Ladies, learn from me. Some things are best left to the professionals for a reason. It’s the same reason we don’t highlight our own hair, we don’t cut our own bangs, and we don’t perform our own pap smears. It was a tough lesson learned. Now every month when I surrender $70 I say a small prayer of thanks to the woman I’m about to spend the next 20 minutes with.

Cindy is a writer based in Rockville, Maryland who runs her blog, Mighty Interesting and Odd. She is the happily married mother of two children, including one profoundly autistic non-verbal son and one neuro-typical college age son, as well as two astonishingly adorable puppies.
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