”Hello?”
“Hey Dee, it’s Jen.”
“Oh hey! So how’s it-“
“What blood type are you?”
“What? Why?”
“I think I might need a transfusion.”
“Oh god. What now?”
“So… I bought a new bathing suit for our trip next week.”
“Uh huh.”
“And decided to give myself a bikini wax…”
“Oh you didn’t! Did you take Advil before hand?”
“Dee, I’m in so much pain right now. I think I see bone.”
“Didn’t we already go through this once before? I swear I’ve had this exact conversation with you.”
She was right. She had. It was probably six or seven years ago when I first got roped into an infomercial for Nad’s Natural Hair Removal Gel. There was something about the announcer that drew me in – maybe it was her kind eyes or her friendly smile, but I was transfixed by that Australian woman’s story. She invented Nad’s because, as she explained, “me daughtas had veery heery ahms.” To protect her daughters from the cruel playground teasing, she created her very own all natural hair removal product to help them feel better about themselves.
“Eet’s awl natural,” she said, “Mide with honey ind sugah.”
I seem to recall her saying that you could even eat it, but it was a late night infomercial, so maybe I was delirious. I bought the kit, followed the directions, and remember calling Dee-Dee one evening, almost in tears.
“I can’t tear it off, Dee. It hurts too much.”
“You just have to do it. Count to three and rip.”
“I’ve tried that. I just keep getting to three and stopping. I think I need to take a bath to wash it off.”
I’ve always heard that the human brain cannot remember pain, which is obviously a good thing or we probably would have died out long ago. It must be true, because this afternoon when I was in Target and saw the Nad’s kit sitting on the shelf amidst all the razors and shave gels, all I remembered was the part about being able to eat it.
They had even improved the formula, according to the box, by adding nourishing kiwi and soothing mint. I got home, poured myself a beer, and went into the bathroom to begin the process to hairlessness.
I guess my first clue should have been the fact that they now include alcohol cleansing swabs as an initial prep. This is apparently to ward off infection when the first eight layers of protective skin cells are forcibly ripped from your loins.
My second warning sign came when I discovered the consistency of the gel. I seem to remember it being much more liquid, less solid. When I stuck the applicator into the gel, it felt like trying to shove a butter knife into a warm candle.
“Oh, right. I remember – it melts with your body heat as you apply it.”
This was a lie. Not only did it not melt, it actually started to rip out the hair as I was applying it. I tried to warm up the applicator by running it under hot water, but it did no good. It was kind of like trying to spread ice cold butter onto dry toast – tiny blobs of the gel clumped together across my delicate bikini area, leaving bare spots in between.
At one point, the applicator got stuck to my upper thigh and I had to apply a warm wash cloth to remove it. I thought about giving up at that point, but by this time, I was pretty much committed to the process so I decided to soldier on and applied the cloth strips to the gel.
All it would take now was to apply three quick swipes across the cloth with my hand, grab the lower edge of the strip and pull. And pull. Pull the strip. Just pull it. Take the edge of the strip and pull it quickly. Right, grab that bottom part and pull. Now. Right now. Okay, then, on the count of three. One, two, three, PULL! You didn’t pull.
This internal struggle went on for about ten minutes as I sipped my beer and tried to gain the courage to remove the strip. When I finally ripped off the first strip, I screamed a few expletives, but then looked down at the newly smooth bikini area and felt I had made the right decision. Until the blood came. A few tiny beads at first, and then a few more, and a few more. It appeared that I had actually pulled my veins out through my thigh. It was at that point that I grabbed the phone and called Dee-Dee.
”I told you to leave that kind of thing to the professionals, Jenny.”
“I know, I know… but that’s just way too intimate for me.”
“And look where you are now.”
“Seriously. Oh, shit! I just remembered that I have a gynecologist appointment on Thursday!”
“Oh my god! Why don’t you just go for the trifecta and get a high colonic this week while you’re at it?!”
“No kidding! What’s she going to say when I hobble in there with oozing sores on my inner thighs? She’s gonna make me take that Chlamydia test again…”
“Again?”
“I mean for the first time.”
“Well, call me if you start to feel light headed. I’ll have Nat drive you to the ER.”
“Will do. I think the bleeding has stopped, though. And you know, once all the swelling and redness goes away in 6-8 weeks or so, I’ll probably look great.”
“Just in time for your next waxing.”
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