When I was a child, my mother had an Austrian cleaning woman who came once a week. My mother referred to Beate as as “an enemy of dirt.”

Today I encountered an “enemy of hair.”

In anticipation of my bi-annual sexfest, I went in today for an upper leg and bikini wax. Linda, the beautiful owner of the salon, is older and very elegantly put together. I was certain I’d be assigned to a younger girl, poor thing. But no … Linda wanted me for herself.

First she asked me if I was going away and that’s why I wanted a bikini wax. “Sort of,” I replied. “I am seeing my man for the first time in a few months.”

“Say no more,” she replied.

I won’t get into the details except to say that, shockingly, she insisted I remove my underwear and went at me while I was buck naked from the waist down. Now listen here, ladies, I keep things tidy. But Linda went to work on my bikini area with the dedication of Van Gogh. She measured to make sure everything was symmetrical. Powders, hot wax, wax strips, nail scissors, tweezers, soothing balms and oils — I have never had so much attention paid to my naked petunia, non-carnally speaking. In the end, my privates now look like those of a high-end porn star. But at the time, she was removing so much hair that I was getting nervous and frightened, afraid to look down to see just exactly what was going on. And oh yeah … it HURT!

And for all Linda’s expert work and my pain, here’s the text exchange between me and my friend:

Me: I must really love you.

Him: Why?

Me: I am at the waxing salon. Korean woman is an enemy of hair. I think I might be bald. I am afraid to look down.

Him: You could have a boreal forest for all I care.