My Razor is Also My Best Friend

To start off, let me say that I don't find this story funny at all, but two of my friends begged me to write this.  



The first part of it happened a couple of years ago when my friend Melynda had a bad waxing experience. 

Here's the link to her blog if you'd like to read that story. She's awesomely hilarious.



When Melynda told me what happened to her, I thought she was exaggerating.  Surely waxing couldn't be that bad.

Now before you read this story you need to know a few things.  Over a year-and-a-half ago, just before Cade and I went on vacation, I found out I was three months pregnant.  Then on facebook I got some dumb notification that two people had answered questions about me.  One person said they thought I was fake and the other person clicked "no" to the question: Does Elisa have a nice butt.  No?  No!  Seriously?  It's not that I really cared what he thought of my butt, except would it have killed him to click "yes" just to be nice?  The fake comment was just snarky--I could handle her rudeness.  The butt comment though--it had come from a guy--guys don't lie!  I asked Cade, "Do you like my butt?"

"Of course, babe."

"Really? Because one of your friends answered a question on facebook and they said I don't have a nice butt."

"Then they're an idiot."

I snuggled into the crook of Cade's arm.  Even if he'd lied, it was a nice lie.

The second day of vacation, while all the girls stayed back at the rooms, Cade went to hang out with some of his guy friends who were on vacation with us.  One of the guys Cade hung out with that day was the butt-hater!  I have to admit I was nervous as Cade left the room.  He hugged me and I wanted to cry.  Would the butt-hater convert Cade?  Would he talk about how much my butt sucks even though I should have been shielded by pregnancy?  Some people have no empathy!

So, the fact remained, I wasn't feeling very great about myself.  I was pregnant with our fifth kid, we'd been married for almost ten years, and someone on facebook didn't like my butt!  As I thought about things, I couldn't stay in that room anymore.  I packed the kids into the car and went to the local convenience store.

They had loads of awesome things there.  I got homemade jam and some organic peanut butter.  Sure the stuff was expensive, but they had such neat foods, delicious treats and even some polygamist patrons.  "Stop staring," I whispered to my oldest daughters (The Scribe and The Hippie.)

"But they remind me of Little House on the Prarie."

"Great," I moaned before turning a corner fast.  And that's when I saw it--the waxing kit.  It was a homemade kit, said to be the kind local salons used.  I felt the angels singing as I picked up the container which said patent-pending.  Cade had asked if we could go swimming that night.  I'd wax and then maybe I wouldn't seem like a frumpy pregnant woman who's been married a third of her life!  I'd show the butt-haters of the world--Hell I'd show everyone!

I paid for my expensive foods and that organic waxing kit.  Then, after we went to the room, I put my boy (who was one at the time) to sleep.  I smiled greedily since it had only taken five pregnancies to discover that waxing was the answer to my problems.  When you're pregnant, you can't tie your own shoes, let alone shave your legs.  Waxing seemed like the perfect solution; I'd wax my legs a few times during the pregnancy and the hair wouldn't grow back for a long time!  It sounded awesome.

So, I clicked the remote until Phineas and Ferb played for my girls.  Then I heated the wax.  Three minutes sounded like an awfully long time, long enough it could cook a red potato, but the stuff was so hard, it was tough just getting the lid off after thirty seconds.  A huge amount of the wax clung to the lid and arced from the main container by these huge strands of stickiness.  I used a washcloth and eventually separated the two from each other even though I couldn't get it off my fingers--that should have been a sign.  But I did eventually get the lid off, and heat the wax to the desired thickness.  Just those two things felt like a small victory. 

I set the lid on the top of the microwave and headed into the bathroom.  My girls waved at me and my boy snored.  Then, feeling like everything was right in the world, I locked myself in the bathroom and read the homemade instructions.  "Place a very generous amount of wax to the knees and bikini area.  You must be generous if you want to remove all the hair in these areas.  The wax will dry after several minutes.  Just before fully drying, place a paper strip to the desired area."

I started doing what it said and boy was I generous.  I had so much wax on me, it dripped into the tub I stood in.  That's when my boy woke up.

"Mama," my daughters yelled.  "Can we get the baby out of the crib?

"Great!" I groaned and turned.  "Sure, just watch him really good."

I flipped the paper over and read more of the instructions.  In big letters it said, "PLEASE TRY A TEST AREA FIRST!  Apply a small amount of wax to your thigh.  Apply in a straight stroke."

Crap!  Why hadn't I turned the paper over?  I bent my knees and applied a bit onto my thigh.  Now I didn't over-think this at the time, but my bikini-line and knees were still gooey.  And as I stuck some paper over the test area on my thigh, I bent my knees and they touched.  That's when my son screamed--full on screamed--before my girls started wailing too.  I stayed still, clutching onto every noise my children made.

"Why weren't you watching him?" The Scribe said.

"I told you to watch him?"

"I told you."

"Mom!"

"Mom!  He's so sticky!"

"What's wrong?" I yelled, closing my eyes.  I didn't know what was going on, but it wasn't a good time for them to freak out. 

"He got the lid!  He got the lid!  It's all over his face and the carpet.  It's all over my arm!" The Scribe sobbed.

"Oh my Hell!"  After awhile I tried stepping from the tub.  Even though I was half-way naked, when I tried stepping, I couldn't--my knees were glued together!  The wax had turned to rock WITH MY HAIR STUCK IN IT!  "Oh, so the stupid stuff finally dried?  Fantastic!"  I sat on the tub, lifted my legs, then swiveled around so I could get out of it.  I grabbed a towel, which my hands stuck to momentarily, and hopped out of the bathroom.  Every time I hopped, it hurt!  When I opened the door, I wanted to die.

My boy, my beautiful one-year-old boy was covered in wax!  "Oh my gosh!"  I looked around.  Even though I hopped like a maimed one-legged turkey, I couldn't let my kids think I wasn't in control.  But it was too late.  "Where's the peanut butter?" I screamed.

"Right here," The Hippie said.  She was the only one not covered in wax.  I looked at The Scribe.  She sat on the bed and sobbed at her sticky arm.

"We're going to get this off.  I promise we will."  I hopped over to my boy.  I stared at that expensive peanut butter before sticking my hand all the way in it.  I wanted to cry as I smeared twenty dollar organic peanut butter all over my boy's face and the sections of hair he'd put the wax on.  He actually stayed put and used a sticky finger to poke the paper strip still stuck to my lower thigh. 

I put peanut butter on The Scribe and then my knees.  But it wouldn't help me like it helped them--my wax had dried.  That's when someone knocked on the door.  I knew in my heart that it was Cade, especially since he'd left me with the only room key we'd found that day.  I wanted to hug him and sob.  Tell him how I felt old, ugly AND sticky.

I wrapped the towel tightly around my bust and moved to the door.  I moved so fast, I unintentionally pulled the wax off one knee.  I cussed and looked down.  A bunch of hair stuck to the wax still on my other knee.  The paper strip flapped from the other leg.  I opened the door, just wanting to rush into Cade's arms because I'd spent the afternoon scrubbing the children; I'd glued my knees together; I'd wasted twenty dollars--in organic peanut butter and still hadn't had time to remove the dried wax from my thigh or bikini-line.  So I opened the door . . . only to realize my hopes were wrong!  The person standing at the door wasn't Cade, it was the butt-hater!

"Oh my gosh.  I'm so sorry," he said staring at my one extremely hairy knee!  "I just wanted to tell you Cade said he'll be back a little later.  They're still golfing."

"Thank you . . . so much."  I know my face was beet-red as I  stood there in the towel.  I had no make-up on, one inhumanely hairy/waxy leg and a thigh with paper stuck to it.  Still I tried to remain calm.  "Well, have a nice . . . day."  I shut the door and leaned against it.  My eyes glared at that stupid paper strip still stuck to my leg.  I pulled it then and I'm sure the butt-hater heard me scream again.  But I didn't care.  I could have cared less.

So, later that night, after everyone went swimming without me and I'd SHAVED my legs and bikini-line, I wore a cute dress (that covered the red test areas on my thigh and knees.)  I tried looking extra nice and a couple of Cade's friends gave a complimentary whistle as I sauntered over to visit with everyone.


That's when the butt-hater chimed in.  "Your wife looks really nice," he said, nudging Cade.

I don't know what overcame me, but I guess I couldn't take the suspense any longer.  I turned to the butt-hater and asked, "Do you really think my butt's ugly?"

Everyone hushed.  I heard the wind whistling past us and crickets fiddling into the night.  "You answered a question on facebook.  It said: Does Elisa have a nice butt . . . and you clicked no."

Cade's friends hung onto every word.  Then the butter-hater pleaded with Cade, "She's your wife, man.  What was I supposed to put?"

I gulped.  So, I was an idiot and I'd embarrassed that nice guy in front of everyone there.  He'd proven himself chivalrous and kind.  That's when I did the only thing that could help the situation.  When you embarrass someone who's really a nice guy and not a jerk, there's only one way to fix things; you have to one-up them.  "Don't feel bad."  I suddenly laughed.  "Today, I glued my knees together with hot wax."

All the woman gaped and then after looking at each other, they started laughing.  We even swapped waxing horror stories, right in front of the guys.  I think the butt-hater didn't feel quite so bad after that.

When we finished visiting and were walking back to the room, Cade said, "You always surprise me.  I never know what you're going to do next.  So you had quite the day, huh?"

"You have no idea," I said and hugged him around the waist.

Cade smiled down at me and my heart melted.  I don't know why I'd been so worried about being frumpy and old, or why I'd cared that some person clicked "no" on facebook.  Cade always makes me feel young and desirable.  He makes me feel like the person I want to be.  There was so much love in his eyes, I knew he was proud to be with me even though I'd glued my own knees together.  I love that man and I'm so happy I have him.