Again, my apologies for not writing over the past two weeks. I’ve been swamped with work, dancing, and an uninvited cold. But now I’m back to let you know I can really shake ’em down. (Two points to anyone who started singing.)
Okay, so I’ve been thinking about which story I should share. Several of my closest friends have heard this story, but it’s definitely a story that’s worthy of sharing with the masses.
Back in 2010-2011, I worked at a medspa. It was the first time that I had veered from cosmetics for many years, and it was an incredible learning experience. I worked with an amazing group of women that made a stressful job so much freaking fun. We did a lot of different services there, but probably the most popular was laser hair removal. On my second day, one of the aestheticians lasered my underarms so I could know what it felt like. And It felt like someone was raking a hot needle across my skin, so needless to say, it wasn’t very pleasant. What I did love was the results, though. Apparently I’m a prime candidate because I’m pasty white and my hair is dark. Goody!
I had only worked there a couple of months when the aesthetic manager came into my office with a huge, cheesy smile. I’m not saying that Holly wasn’t a lovely person, because she absolutely was, but she rarely came into my office with a smile that big. I stayed seated with a look on my face that I’m sure was like, “Yes? I’m frightened.” Then Holly did a little dance and said with a happy, sing-song voice, “Are you ready to get your hoo-ha done?” I stayed sitting…frozen to death. Now I did love the results of my underarms, but I wasn’t interested in any of my co-workers seeing my cookie. They should at least buy me dinner and a drink first, but apparently Holly needed to train a new girl, Kim, on our lasers.
And if I wasn’t scared enough, Holly informed me that they needed Kim to watch Holly perform a full Brazilian. So for those of you that don’t know, with laser hair removal, you actually shave the day of your treatment. I was pretty sure I could easily get out of this by just telling Holly that I hadn’t shaved that day. She was obviously prepared for such an objection, as she came running back to my office with a cheap razor and a can of Barbasol.
I had an hour to shave and then put on the numbing cream. The only bathroom was a public one in the building, so that wasn’t going to work. I decided to use a room in the office that had a sink, but didn’t require a lot of use from my co-workers. My hilarious co-worker, Paige thought it would be funny to keep popping by the door and saying she was going to walk in, since she knew the door didn’t have a lock. I can’t even begin to say how many times I yelled at Paige while I was in that room shaving my unmentionables. That was incredibly defeating, but nowhere near the actual experience itself.
After the numbing cream had kicked in some, I was instructed to go to the room and change into a robe. Holly was really kind to have two stress squeeze balls ready for me on the bed. I felt a bit humiliated with my legs spread open, but I tried to just focus on the pain. After about 15 minutes, I thought the whole process was over. You can’t imagine my relief! But then Holly instructed me to “flip over.” Flip over? FLIP OVER!?! I immediately felt my sweat glands kick into overtime. I mean, I’ve had a Brazilian before, so I knew this was a possibility. I shaved there just in case, but I was really praying it wouldn’t come to that.
I flipped over and then Holly said, “Oh, you missed a spot shaving. No big deal. I’ll get that for you.” As if this whole process hadn’t been humiliating enough, my co-worker was about to shave my crack.
And then Holly uttered a sentence that you should NEVER hear from a co-worker…..
“Lindy, I nicked your butthole.”
I couldn’t stop laughing, which made me clench. And then Holly laughed. And then the new girl, Kim, laughed. And then I laughed some more.
Needless to say, my hoo-ha and my butt crack recovered just fine. It’s just my pride and self-esteem I continue to worry about.
P.S. I was told that I had to attach pictures to my posts, but since I refuse to put a picture that might go with this story, here’s a picture of a kitten.