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Why I’m Swearing Off Brazilian Waxes for Good
After 17 years of marriage (yes, I was a teen bride—obviously), my husband and I sometimes find it challenging to keep the spark alive in our relationship. We’ve tried everything from lingerie to toys and even a bit of adult entertainment (and no, we’ve never used a power drill). But my favorite way to add some excitement? Pubic hair art. Over the years, I’ve crafted various designs down there—hearts, arrows, even a martini glass! (I just had a revelation: I’m basically a pubic hair Picasso.) If I mess up, I just claim it’s a Rorschach test, and we still end up having a great time. (Don’t worry, no photos of my masterpieces will be shared here.)
For my husband’s last birthday, I thought it would be fun to surprise him with a Brazilian wax. I had never undergone any type of waxing before, let alone one that involves removing everything from my lady bits. I figured, why not go all in?
As the appointment day approached, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves. When the technician walked in, I must have looked like a deer in headlights. “First time?” she asked. “Yep,” I squeaked. After a brief explanation of the process, she pulled back the blanket and said, “First, we need to trim things down a bit.” Apparently, I had let my jungle grow a bit too wild.
As she snipped away with tiny scissors (thankfully, there was no chainsaw in sight), I couldn’t help but giggle nervously. The whole situation felt a bit too intimate. Then came the moment of truth: “Alright, I’m going to remove the most sensitive area first.” I thought to myself, “I’ve given birth to two kids; how bad could this be?”
Let me tell you, it was a different kind of pain. The first rip felt like a scene from a horror movie. I screamed in my head while weakly assuring her, “I’m okay.” She pressed down on my pubic bone to ease the pain, but I just wanted her to press harder!
The session dragged on as I tried to focus on my breathing. Time felt irrelevant, and I had to constantly remind myself not to kick her in the face. Eventually, she reassured me that the worst was over. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t great, but it did get slightly better. After the ordeal, she slathered on some soothing ointment that I don’t remember the name of—I was too busy wishing for a massage or at least a cigarette.
But the awkwardness and pain aren’t why I’ve sworn off Brazilian waxes for good. No, there are three other reasons that have made me hang up my waxing appointment for life:
- When I finally got up from the table, I stumbled over to the mirror and nearly fainted. It wasn’t the look of a prepubescent girl that horrified me; it was the discovery that my stretch marks reached all the way down into my “tantalizing triangle.” They looked like creepy fingers pointing downward or lightning bolts warning of danger ahead.
- Without the buffer of hair down there, I became insatiably horny. I mean, it was a constant state of needing to pounce on my husband, or in some moments, even a lamppost! We had a lot of fun that week, but it was a little overwhelming.
- Then the hair began to grow back, and it was an agonizing transition. I had no idea that I was prone to ingrown hairs. The itching was one thing, but the pain was unbearable. I started joking with my husband about having boils and scurvy—honestly, I looked like a character from Game of Thrones.
So, after that experience, I am officially done with Brazilian waxes. I’ll stick to my beloved pubic hair art for spicing things up. Next on my creative agenda? Maybe a chili pepper.
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Summary
In this humorous reflection, I recount my experience with a Brazilian wax, sharing the unexpected pain and awkwardness that came along with it. While I attempted to surprise my husband for his birthday, I learned that the results were not worth the discomfort. Instead, I’ve decided to stick to my unique form of pubic hair art to keep things interesting.