I will never forget my first waxing experience because for a few seconds, my soul left my body. My bush was perfectly fine with being trimmed occasionally. It was fine until I bowed to peer pressure.
I am surrounded by mad women. We talk about topics that would embarrass a seasoned sex worker, and during our weekly catch-ups in the field, the topic of waxing came up. I mentioned that I had never done a Brazilian. Irene was like Ghai! Hujawahi? It will sting at first but utazoea. Soon, the girls had decided that Avivar needed to experience the smoothness of waxing at least once in her life. Oh sijui itakua kama vile Bruno Mars husema “smooth like a newborn”. Oh, once you wax you never go back. They swore it was life-changing. So when Hamdi called saying she had booked us an appointment, I was like, sure, why not! Bruh, I was not ready!
I arrived first because I didn’t want to keep her waiting. The waxing salon was deceptively peaceful. Soft music played in the background, almost inaudible, and the place smelled sweet. I was asked to sit in an emerald green plushy chair, all the while having the feeling of impending doom. I refused tea because honestly, I felt like I would puke it. She asked if I was ready to start, and I said NO. Hamdi was running late, and she was the support system. In the 5 minutes it took for her to get there, I had already thought of quitting a million times.
The waxing room was neat and cozy, but the wall was written, “Relax, it is your time.” That should have been the first red flag, because where in the history of relaxing, has someone ever told you to relax and you did? It felt like I was at a gyno’s office. The wax technician explained the process. I nodded. When she left to give me some privacy to remove my clothes, I was like, you are going to be seeing my coochie anyway! I think they do that to give the client some semblance of control.
I felt a warm sticky layer of wax and for a moment it felt almost comforting. Almost. In that first strip, let me tell you, Maina, I called Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. For a moment, I felt weightless, like I was floating in space. The feeling was of pain, regret and self-pity. My inner self was like si ni wewe ulijileta. The rest of the time I alternated between ouch, that hurt and questions to my technician about her experiences with other clients. The awkward bit was when we had to adjust positions, and my legs were in the air. I couldn’t help but laugh hysterically at the absurdity of it all because on a normal day, this position would have been fun. 🤭Now, I think I am traumatized. 🫂
After one and a half hours, I walked out of the salon with wobbly legs and a newfound respect for anyone who willingly did this regularly. Smooth? Yes. Life-changing? Also yes. Worth it? I’ll let you know in three weeks when I decide if I’m brave enough to do it again. As Hamdi and I parted ways, the only thoughts on my mind were, bed, ice cream, and cuddles. Weeeh! My lady bits have suffered today, and I didn’t even get to tell you about the armpits.
