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Thursday August 03, 06
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01:03 PM - "RRRRRRRRRipppp!"
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This week Miss H and I booked in for Bikini Waxes. Miss H is going on holiday next week. I am just a glutton for punishment.
All in all it is a strange experience. ‘Abject pain to whale song’ best describes it. The couch and trolley of equipment necessary for a good bikini wax evokes perhaps a trip to a private hospital. This is countered by the typical environment preferred at provincial beauty salons. Lashings of peach coloured everything, naff prints of potted palm plants, and dismal ‘relaxation muzac’; tinkling wind chime tunes that could drive you into an institution (as if you didn’t feel like you have already been institutionalised). As I lay on the couch, feeling rather ‘prone’ I was reminded me of another trip to such an establishment.
One of my oldest and closest friends is the daughter of an extremely famous actor. He once paid for us to attend a day at a very posh Spa. The day spa package we chose promised pampering and relaxation second to none. The first couple of hours were indeed very pleasurable. Combined sauna and tanning, whirlpools and lots of lying around swathed in luxurious towelling robes. However, the treatments we had booked began at lunchtime and we couldn’t have them together as we had planned. There was no mention at all of when lunch would be available and as the afternoon wore on it became clear that food was not part of the package. Between treatments I was ushered to the ‘relaxation room’ with a view looking out over a wealthy marina. All around me rich women lolled, staring out of the window, in a strange Stepford Wife style trance. I couldn’t help but wonder. Have they nothing better to do on a Saturday? They weren’t talking, reading or even sleeping. They were barely bloody breathing. My mate had vanished into some treatment room; we were both hungry and frankly all I could think about was coffee and a roll-up. It became abundantly clear to me on that day that I don’t ‘do’ relaxation.
I decided to be pro-active and try and get my hands on some food. I got up from my chair in the relaxation room and sort of sidled out, partly so as not to disturb the so-called ‘relaxation’ and partly to draw the least attention to myself as possible. I padded past reception, still in robe and hair turban, and found myself a doorman, out the back having a fag. (I was green with envy.) “Is there anywhere I can get some food around here?” I asked hopefully. The doorman advised that the only option was to order some fruit from reception. Not quite the sort of thing I had in mind, but I went ahead and did just that. The fruit was presented to me just as I was called for yet another massage. It was 2 bananas on a silver tray. We were billed £6 for them. We left feeling exasperated, starving and stressed out. We went to a Pizza place on the way home and smoked furiously. We never did find out what happened to the gold plated bananas.
“RRRRRRRRRRippppppp!!” Back to the waxing. Miss H had specifically booked the hot number in waxing around here. ‘Sasha’ ex London, waxed many a celebrity bikini line. Very ‘thorough’ apparently. I was booked in with another ‘waxing technician’ who seemed to possess no sense of humour whatsoever, which isn’t great when you are in a compromising position. Perhaps she should have been a dominatrix or an income tax inspector I thought as ‘rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrripp!” she tore off another strip. Then she came at me with her tweezers. I had to focus on the dreaded whale song at that moment and, not before time, the job was done. “You were very calm,” she said through pursed lips. “Hmmn, must be the music,” I said.
I waited in the plush peach foyer with my intellectual glasses and “The Line of Beauty” (“I’m not an airhead – honestly!” I tried to tell the passing parade, of well, airheads). Then, something more painful than the wax itself. A remix of Bonnie Tyler’s “I Need A Hero” came blaring forth from the speakers above my head. Dear God Please Help Me. For a split second it seemed that the pain was too much. Could an exquisitely neat bikini line ever be worth such agony?
Well, yes, I can confirm that now that the redness had subsided it was just about worth it. Even when racked with the flu that I now have (karma for the airhead thing no doubt) there is something most reassuring in knowing that despite my red nose there is a part of me that is very well groomed…
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Your description of the wheeling in of the "trolley of torture" brought to mind memories of the labour ward....you know the bit when it is time for the "main event" and they remove the green cloth from the trolley to expose the surgical gloves, scalpals and forcepts......scary shit!
Of course if I was to open such a salon it would be Moz on the stereo.....tasteful decor.....roll-ups on demand....and kababs all round! No waxing on an empty stomach at the Alma boutique!
Glad your bikini line is all ship shape babe.....all for a bit of grooming me!
Get well soon Anais!
Love Alma xxx