The Sentence


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.


Look at that pointy tail!!  I love kittehs!!!

Look at that pointy tail!! I love kittehs!!!