Wax On, Wax Off

I've been waxing recently, not poeticly or philosophically, but the depilatory type of waxing. It was that time of year once again, when it is necessary to eradicate my undesirable hair growth. Over the years I have discovered that waxing is the ideal way to rid myself of the thick black mustache and gotee combo I possess. (I'd opt for a more permament solution such as laser hair removal but I'm counting on the impressive beard to keep me employed in my silver years, carnival life sounds delightful and prefferable to a nursing home). I don't worry about the back hair as I have long hair that can cover it and in a pinch I can just braid it into my hair... heh... kidding... stop grimacing, I don't have back hair... yet... Anyway since I have a booty call, er, visit with XXX this coming weekend I felt it was an ideal time to get out the scalding wax, pour it on my skin and violently rip the whiskers out of my body. It's very relaxing. Cabbage Patch was quite interested in what I was doing and as she is just 3 she wasn't even remotely repulsed (like you probably are). After I had finished my mild torture session of which I have gotten quite used to, I had this brilliant (read INSANE) thought that maybe I'd just go ahead and wax my legs since I needed to mow them and the wax was still hot. Yeah, that's where my troubles began. YEARS and YEARS ago I used to wax my legs and at one time I had THE primo-bad-ass Israelie Torture Device - an Epilady (they were made in Israel - eh at least it was Kosher). I can't remember much of my Epilady sessions other than they hurt, I'd black out and somehow I'd end up with the smoothest legs ever. I lost that frightening device when I could not find some kind of battery adapter so I could carry it in my purse as a safety device - (I guarantee that any man would scream like a little girl, drop to their knees and cry if one were to slap an Epilady on any part of their hairy anatomy). But I digress, I've since had gall bladder pain bad enough to send me to the emergency room and I've birthed two children, one completly without medication in the back livingroom of my then home with her coming out feet first. I know pain. I wax other parts of my body, I figured this would probably hurt less than waxing my 'stache. Oh my arrogants would be my down fall. I painted my leg from my knee all the way down to my foot with a three inch wide strip of warm wax. My fingers ripped up the first piece of wax at the bottom and I swear I started to cry. My three year old was deeply concerned, patted my foot and said "It okay mamma. You be alright." I was up shit creek at this point, I had removed about an inch and a half of wax from the bottom and still had to get the rest off. I HAD to. I briefly considered leaving it and maybe my hair would grow fast enough for me to trim under the wax but then realzied that would not work as my sister was already on her way over. I steadied myself with several shots of tequila - kidding, kidding, I'm totally out of tequila and the beer in the fridge is what I imagine cat piss tastes like - and I ripped again. The next strip hurt so bad I felt as though I would pass out but I had to continue. More reassurance from my offspring as I tore off the rest, I felt dizzy and a out of breath, I was sweating and crying like a big baby. I swear I must have burned off quite a bit of bad karma just on that single strip of wax. I did not however continue my endevors to wax. By the time D arrived the swelling had gone down, I was breathing normally and I could walk straight again. I had survived the Deadly WAX unscathed - except mentally, I could swear I was having disturbing dreams last night of having my legs waxed by demented midgets.