The "stockpiles" the coupon ladies have all seem to consist of items no one would ever need in bulk. Like Vitamin Water. Or Glade Plug-Ins. Or Cinnabon Cereal. Nobody needs 900 of any of these things. And I like to get out once in a while, I don't really want to grocery shop in my basement.
But, if you've followed me or read any of my previous posts, you know I do tend to love a good deal. A coupon. A freebie.
Imagine my excitement when I saw this sticker on the front page of the newspaper in the employee kitchen at work:
I ripped that puppy off before any of my co-workers could get to it (like anyone would have fought me for it) thinking to myself, "Hah - I'm the winner!" I was Charlie Bucket - I found the GOLDEN TICKET!
Fast-forward to the day of my appointment at the fancy-schmancy new European Wax Center. I had decided to go for a bikini wax. Why? No I'm not putting on a bathing suit anytime soon - it's free.
The day of my free service, I had drove all over, back and forth over bridges, downtown to work, to school to pick up child #1, then back downtown to get child #2. I was going back over the bridge for the umpteenth time to drop them at home. I couldn't wait to get to my bikini wax. This was going to be my "me" time. Yes, some relaxing me time..
Because having hair ripped from my pubic area will be more relaxing than this:
This went on for twenty-something minutes.
Back over the bridge by myself - as I stepped into the European Wax Center I noticed it had a stark-white glow to it. Almost like a doctor's office. Or like a scene from A Clockwork Orange. Oh, and this picture was all over the place.
|This couple clearly enjoys a good wax.|
I was greeted and given the run down on this fancy wax, told how it was from Europe (which I had gathered) and how I could save hundreds of dollars if I were to purchase a years worth of body waxing services today.
I said I would think about it.
My wax-lady came out to meet me, her name was Paula. She was a short dark-haired Asian woman who was wearing what appeared to be medical scrubs.
She lead me down a narrow hall into a room that had a table and her waxing supplies. She asked me if I was interested in a Brazilian wax and I laughed nervously blurting out a gigantic NO. She giggled at me and told me I needed to relax.
I hadn't even taken my pants off yet. Or even set my purse down.
She told me to disrobe from the waist down. I asked where the little paper undies are, that you put on when you get a bikini wax, to cover your cookie.
She said, "We don't have those, it's all right."
I know it's silly but I wanted that thin layer of something between my business and this person I met two-minutes ago. I waited a moment for her to leave the room so I could get to "disrobing" when she turned around and said, "Go ahead!"
"Oh, you don't leave?" I asked.
I quickly took off my shoes, pants, and undies and laid them in a heap on a stool with my purse. Then I jumped up on the table again wishing I had a towel. OR SOME PAPER UNDIES.
"Ok now," said Paula, "Make your legs like in a butterfly position, you know what I mean? Like put the soles of your feet together."
So I did. I'm sure people get this done everyday but it all felt a bit weird to me. I'm naked from the waist down in front of a stranger. Who isn't a doctor, but she's kind of dressed like one. And she's giving my vagina the once over, you know, coming up with a game plan.
"You sure you don't want a Brazilian, I do it up real nice for you."
"NO" I stress again. Now I am getting worried.
She was touting the benefits of the special European wax as she applied it to my bikini line. It felt extra hot and I tensed up and started to do that crazy nervous-wax-laugh that I get, when I know what goes on must also get ripped off.
Again, she told me to CALM DOWN. I think she was getting annoyed as I rambled on and on about just doing a little, not a lot, and continued to laugh.
She continued her work with the hot purple wax (it was purple!) but I have to admit not once did I look down to say, "yeah that looks great" or nod approvingly. I just wanted this wax job over with.
By the time we were done I think she was ready to say goodbye to me as well. Again, she doesn't leave the room for me to get dressed, so I stand up, wobbly and off, trying to look as put-together as possible while putting my underwear on and teetering on heels after having what felt like minor surgery. I sneak a glimpse in the mirror and I am glowing red.
Outside as I am leaving I have to laugh out loud as I notice this:
Is right next to this:
Never in my life has anything made so much sense.