I thought that title might get your attention.
I’ve never been shy about expressing which side I’m on in the war of the pubic hairs. While I applaud some basic caretaking, I’m just not down with visually reducing me to a pre-pubescent girl. I’m a woman. If you can’t get turned on by me unless I look like a 9 year old then I’m out (also, probably calling the police and leaving an anonymous tip, but that’s another story).
I’m not going to lie—part of my reticence regarding the rip-it-all-out-by-the-root-and-smile approach is my naturally prudish demeanor… and the descriptions of what some of you have gone through in order to get that ready for XXX close-up. [By the way, congratulations for surviving the decision to have hot wax spackled all over the southern zone.] For instance, I’ve got to know you pretty darn well to be happy about a command to get on all fours and shove my ass in your face. I know. I know. I’m ridiculous. But that’s just me.
On the upside, the person working the anal/pubic tweezers does possibly have a worse job than I have. In fact, when I’m at work complaining about how dissatisfied I am with my job, I think to myself, “Well, at least I’m not tweezing someone’s ingrown pubic hair right now.” The worst days, of course, are the days where this little mantra doesn’t work.
However, regardless of my own natural reluctance in these matters, I never once seriously thought that a bikini wax could kill me—you know, unless the term “died of embarrassment” turned out to be literal. But this article is something for you all to keep in mind the next time you let someone drip hot wax south of the border.
Please consider this my PSA of the month. Stay safe out there.