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. (more…)


I am not a woman who waxes, but because I am going to Spain tomorrow for a week, I decided to be a little adventurous.  I booked a lunchtime appointment today for a leg and bikini wax, and let the Waxer know I was going to go for something Brazilian.  “Are your hairs long enough for the wax to take hold?” She asked me on the phone.  “I think you’re going to have plenty to work with.  I’ve been saving up for four weeks just for this experience.”  Clearly, my growth was going to be sufficient.  I made the appointment Monday, and have been eagerly awaiting my date with the Waxer, not least because my lower legs were starting to look like those of a sixteen-year-old boy in the wild throes of puberty.  I figured I planned this pretty well – 24 hours of redness, and I will be fully beach-ready by Saturday.

All the ladies at my work had advice for me involving tea tree oil and exfoliants, and were excited for me to join the ranks of painful (but hairless!) pubes.  Ankles hurt the worst, it was widely agreed, although having the hairs ripped out of the delicate skin of your vulva is pretty impressive too.  I chose the Brazilian after careful consideration.  It’s probably the only time in my life I’ll try it out, as I’m generally opposed to bald genitalia, but I figured I’d keep a tasteful landing strip and what the hell – I’m going to IBIZA.  Why shouldn’t my pubes join the party?