Dig this: It’s a balmy summer’s day, in a very picturesque house by the beach, on a outdoor patio with a thatched roof, with flowing cotton curtains, a tall Brazilian model with extra long legs, a hulk of a guy with an oiled up body, a bubbling Jacuzzi foaming up steam, a bottle of champagne on ice and the couple getting cozy.
The girl says, “Honey, would you help me wax a bit?”
“Oh sure baby…I would love to help you with the wax” says the hulk.
Freeze! Cut! Cut! Cut!…Visual over.
Reality: My wife asked me to help me out with the waxing. And, I agreed. Though it may sound romantic and intimate, interestingly it is not so. She bought a tub of wax and a wad of waxing paper. She wanted me to help. I wanted to help her so that I can get out of the house for a guys-day-out trip. And I had very little time to start with. Unfortunately, waxing on a short fuse is a very bad idea.
We have quite a big bathroom where we could have done this. Having never done this in life myself, I said, “Come on, why don’t we sit at the dining table” (A decision that will haunt me for the years to come).
The inner hurry in me manifested as enthusiasm. I wanted to do everything fast. The tub of wax said, “Microwave this for 30 seconds”. The zeal in me prodded me to enhance the entire process, and so I microwave-d on high for 60 seconds. Apparently, wax, not only has a melting point but also has a boiling point. And, boiling stuff doesn’t go well with the skin as well as with the mental stability of my pretty wife who is lying on a mat with sliced cucumber over her eye lids.
I said to my wife, “Relax! Let the master do his work”. I scooped some honey-looking wax and looked at my not so waxed-looking honey and went for the easiest part, the shin.
I gently dabbed. “Eeeeeowwwwww..what the f#[(< was that!” screamed my wife.
It blistered almost.
“The wax is damn hot you idiot”, she said.
Romance was starting to wane at that point.
I brought her some Aloe Vera, soothed the burning sensation, and apologized. I cut four big cucumber slices now, had two and gave here two to get her to relax. I cooled the wax a bit and the applied a clean rectangular strip on her calf. I put the waxing paper on top of that.
Now, the moment of truth.
Since I have already hurt her with my aggression, I wanted to be very gentle. I tried to peel the wax strip in slow motion.
Again she yelled, “Eeeeeeoowwwwww.. what the f#[(< are you doing?”.
I said, “I am being gentle”.
Apparently, the technique is to pull the strip off in one quick motion.
I learnt it. I was doing Strrrrrupppp! Strrrrrupppp! Strrrrrupppp! But the wax is a bad thing to work with. It made my fingers stick. Oh it’s icky. Whatever I touched got stuck to my fingers. I am a hairy guy. My decision to wax without a shirt was a stupid idea. The wax wouldn’t drip clean. High viscosity, I guess. The strands of wax fly about and have an inclination to stick to my chest hairs. The natural tendency to pick the fuzz complicates the issue.
We went through a lot of stick and goo and ick and ooh. Mess on the floor, stuck eyelids, twisted moustache, striped legs, flaring rage, foul language, kicked privates, clawed face. Yeah, my wife is such a pussy cat.
Finally, we both agree, it is more than justified if a salon charges $100 for this work. If my wife does want to pay them, I would gladly do.
My wife is all red, smooth, and melting at the same time. Now, guys, the visual is like a zombie with rotting skin walking. She is furious and doesn’t want to be in the same room as me. She barks at me “Clean this mess”. She rushes upstairs to the bathroom.
Now, the moment of temptation.
All hairy me (1-inch long hairs in my shin), wax and strips. Should I or should I not? I just wanted to know what the fuss is all about. I brave it. I dab a dollop of wax on my calf (my idea of obscurity). I plaster the wax paper clean and square on my calf.
Now, I am scared.
I ask my son to reverse his toy ride-able Jeep. I took a clip-on wire and clipped one side to the waxing paper (Yeah the one on my calf). I tied the other end of the wire to his jeep.
I say, “Gentlemen! Start your engines!”
My son yells “Green!” and steps on the gas.
I understood that there are some things in life that can put a grown man in tears. Wax is one.