Yesterday I had my legs waxed and realized that their definition of "Sexy Bikini Wax" has been modified from its original definition. I admit that trying to explain what I wanted and understanding what their code words meant has always been a problem for me at the salon. Since most people don't use medical terms for The Area and my Webster's French/English dictionary is slightly lacking in slang for The Area I've been forced to sort of wing it whenever I go to a new salon. Find the most extreme option on their price chart and take the option before that. I've gotten used to a certain level of pain/grooming, give or take a bit. So last time that I went in for a wax before holiday, I thought the girl was just being extra thorough because I had mentioned that I was spending the next two weeks on the beach. This time, when I spent a half hour doing yoga poses on her table, I decided that something bigger is going on. I'm not complaining, I guess, since I'm getting more for my money (or less for my money, really). Its just that I like to be more mentally prepared for that first swipe of hot wax.
"Wow! Ok, there? We're waxing there?! That's cool. I can take it. I pushed a baby out of there. I got stitches there. This is nothing; a few stray hair follicles, its- Yeoh!!! Gone. Thank you for firmly pressing your hand on the skin. This is so awkward that I have almost totally forgotten how much it hurts. And you'll even rub in a special lotion? For 15 euro, you have become more intimate with me than several of my ex-boyfriends. "
And yet, you know what I get embarrassed about? When she asks me if I want my feet waxed. Like somehow, there is no shame in showing her the inside of my vagina, but hairy feet? Mortifying. There is no fur on my feet, how insulting to suggest otherwise! Perhaps a few stray hairs who took a wrong turn at the ankle, but hairy? Nuh-uh. Its like upside down world once I cross the threshhold to Body Minute.
Oh, yeah. I almost forgot to tell you about Tupperware-a-polooza. Meh. I actually would have bought up the entire catalog, but Tupperware is EXPENSIVE. And then they get you all confused by dividing it up into Refridgerator, Freezer, Microwave, Freezer-to-Micro, Micro-to-Oven, etc I kept asking what happens if you mess up? What happens to a Fridge box in the Freezer? I know that the last bit of trivia that I want rattling about in my head is which color plastic container belongs in which cooling compartment. Please, as if there is not enough to worry about, what with war and famine, now I have to find time to be concerned about finding the right box for each of my food storage needs, by temperature? Life is too short. But I do like plastic boxes, so I came away with one of each kind. Only time will tell if my freewheeling ways will come back to haunt me. But I like living on the edge.
As usual, the mommy brigade was getting nervous by 10:30 and making nervous noises about breast-feeding schedules and taxi queues so I was home by 11:15. I was one of the few women there with only one child, so maybe its true what they say about two children more than doubling the work from one. Anyways, I am hoping to have a quick drink tonight with my single girlfriends so no need to over-do it. I have been tossing around the idea of starting a two week detox and realize that it would have been much easier when I was living through my babysitter drought and doing nothing more exciting than ordering in on a Saturday night. "Detox" will remain on the To Do list for the present time.
Besides, my Julia Child cookbook arrived this morning. I think that there is something satisfyingly academic about the recipes, as if someone will show-up at the end of dinner with a certificate and firm handshake, congratulating me on my fine work. Am already planning a dinner party, we've not had friends round in ages. And one of the best things about the book is that I noticed that in the meat sections, she explains the different cuts of meat in French and English. I haven't the vaguest idea what I am buying, most of the time, and even less of a clue about what the ideal cooking method is. This book is just what I needed. I always felt a bit of a fraud accepting compliments on my kitchen skills considering that my basic knowledge was so appalling. You know, if I make it through enough of these recipes, I might just have to whip up my own little certificate. I'm sure I've got some gold stars tucked away somewhere.