Apr 25, 2000
In honor of spring I had my nether regions waxed today. I'm not
going to get into the whole subject of depilation, whether one
should or shouldn't and if one should what the most effective
method is to maintain it, but rather the joy and the difficulties of
that endeavour to distance ourselves from our simian forefathers.
I've always enjoyed a good waxing. It supplies just the right
amount of discomfort for the results and requires less attention
than the shave. It can, for a few days, catapult the hirsute among
us into the regions of the hairless. One's skin feels newly made.
One's bits look better. The shortcomings, in my mind, are not the
regrowth, it's the unavoidable interfacing with the waxer. The
waxer, poor dear, confronted with the unwanted hair of
hundreds, the wayward beaver, the tufted pit, the wooly limb,
even the bearded lady, constantly battling a tide of encroaching
hair, is—not surprisingly—often a tad mad. This is my problem.
Here one is relinquishing one's tenderest bits, one's epidermis to
a woman (invariably they are female) who is liable to rant for the
full 30 or so minutes required to give the illusion of pre-pubescent
bliss. I'm not sure I can tolerate another rant. I want to be
depilated in silence. Hence I've become the waxing whore. I've
found several who do a truly excellent job; I just want one to do
an excellent job without railing. It makes me think that the
"superfluous" hair might actually be a bad thing. Some
inadvertent way of telling me that because I have hair "there"
she's going to tell me how bad, generally speaking, the world is.
While on the subject of maintenance, I have to address my
recently aquired affection for the New York subway system. The
only instance when I take the subway is to visit my hairdresser
uptown. I've noticed that the subway has taken on a sort of retro
appeal due to the fact that nobody can use a cell phone there,
everyone is just there, forced to be where they are and not
planning or implementing something better.
|
In honor of spring I had my nether regions waxed today. I'm not going to get into the whole subject of depilation, whether one should or shouldn't and if one should what the most effective method is to maintain it, but rather the joy and the difficulties of that endeavour to distance ourselves from our simian forefathers. I've always enjoyed a good waxing. It supplies just the right amount of discomfort for the results and requires less attention than the shave. It can, for a few days, catapult the hirsute among us into the regions of the hairless. One's skin feels newly made. One's bits look better. The shortcomings, in my mind, are not the regrowth, it's the unavoidable interfacing with the waxer. The waxer, poor dear, confronted with the unwanted hair of hundreds, the wayward beaver, the tufted pit, the wooly limb, even the bearded lady, constantly battling a tide of encroaching hair, is—not surprisingly—often a tad mad. This is my problem. Here one is relinquishing one's tenderest bits, one's epidermis to a woman (invariably they are female) who is liable to rant for the full 30 or so minutes required to give the illusion of pre-pubescent bliss. I'm not sure I can tolerate another rant. I want to be depilated in silence. Hence I've become the waxing whore. I've found several who do a truly excellent job; I just want one to do an excellent job without railing. It makes me think that the "superfluous" hair might actually be a bad thing. Some inadvertent way of telling me that because I have hair "there" she's going to tell me how bad, generally speaking, the world is. While on the subject of maintenance, I have to address my recently aquired affection for the New York subway system. The only instance when I take the subway is to visit my hairdresser uptown. I've noticed that the subway has taken on a sort of retro appeal due to the fact that nobody can use a cell phone there, everyone is just there, forced to be where they are and not planning or implementing something better.
- rachael 5-10-2000 4:46 pm