Gimme Some Sugar

I treat female-only gatherings with the same enthusiasm as a funeral. Especially when the females are highly dolled up with dresses and are usually doing something with arts and crafts. I’m not girly, I’m not artsy, and when you put me in a room with women who ARE, I stick out like a sore thumb. 

I was reminded of this FACT when I ended up at a friend’s bridal shower wearing shorts and a green top after forgetting that the dress code was PINK and it was a pool party. Minutes within walking through the front door, I was greeted with a bedspread of other people’s clothes so that I matched the pink theme. 

However, the experience turned grim when I was coaxed to put on swimwear. I WANTED to go swimming in the villa’s gorgeous pool but I DIDN’T want to expose the body I’d been neglecting. Most notably, the incredible BUSH that had grown for FIVE fucking months. The coarse pubes had grown so long and thick that they could have been braided.

“Just wear one of my bikinis!” the bride offered with a smile so sweet it felt like I’d be insulting her to say no. But a bikini?

I sighed, picked up a swim set from the bedspread of other people’s clothes, and locked myself in the bathroom. Once I stuffed myself into the bikini, I turned toward the mirror. The image reflected back at me made me grimace, it was one of the worst things I could have put on my body because it revealed EVERYTHING. 

There was no hiding the near dreadlocks poking out of the bottoms. I thought about changing back into my clothes and just leaving the bikini on the bed, but I knew I’d regret more chickening out than actually walking out there proudly; bush and all. 

Then came all the Instagram photos. The woman taking the pictures, bless her, tried SO hard not to look at the hairy cyclopes between my legs. That was when I made the decision that I was in desperate need of a sugar wax (aka sugaring).

Normally, the time between appointments is roughly 4-6 weeks. But again, it had been FIVE months, and the longer you wait between appointments, the thicker the hair grows, the longer the appointment… and the more the pain. 

My aesthetician, Viki, always commented that I had a high pain tolerance because I’d chat her up without batting an eyelash or twitching a leg as she ripped hair out of my body, and usually the appointment didn’t last very long. 

Not this time. 

Not only did poor Viki have to TRIM my pubes before sugaring me, but she had to use more sugar wax and the appointment took longer. Usually, their longer appointments are with men because they tend to sweat, and the wax can't stick.

As I laid on the table asking Viki about men’s low-level pain tolerance, she ripped a glob of wax from my vagina and a piece of the wax unceremoniously splat against the opposite wall. 

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

“It happens all the time. You should see the room when one of our male clients books a full body wax, the walls are covered with hair, but don’t worry; it comes right off with hot water!”

The wax slowly dripped down, leaving a single, two inch pube stuck to the wall. That was the closest I was ever going to get to being part of any kind of art. 

I admit that this appointment made me twitch from pain a few times, but the thought of seeing my bush on any more Instagram stories kept me rooted to the table until my vagina was as bald as Dwayne Johnson.