Thursday, October 9, 2008

Wax on Wax Off

There’s a loud knock on the front door and I turn in my chair to see if I can make out who is standing on the porch. I can’t see anyone so I’m forced to leave my comfy chair and answer the dreaded thing. I see a UPS truck pull away from the house as I near the door and see the brown box sitting on the porch. I barely make it back inside the house when my daughter pokes her head out of the bathroom. A towel is wrapped around her and she stretches her arm towards me.

“Who’s it for? Is my name on it? Give it to me.” She demands.

I’m looking at the name on the box by now and see that indeed it’s hers. This is part where I love being at least one inch taller, and while I think I’m holding things out of her reach as I stick my arm up in the air she just stands there and glares at me. I realize one day she’ll just be able to reach up there and grab it from me but it’s still funny so I keep doing it. I’m holding the box way above my head and shaking it madly as she dances around in her towel.

“Give it to me!”

I give in hand her the box and she squeals as she runs into her bedroom holding the box for dear life.

“It’s NOT Christmas yet.” I hollered after her.

I can hear her tear into the box and soon discover the contents hold a torture device called a Brazilian wax kit. It’s my turn to roll my eyes as I gaze at the contraption.

“I use a razor.” I informed her.

“Yah, but not down there?” she questions.

“Yep, down there.”

“Oh Mom, doesn’t that hurt?”

“Been doing it for years sweetie.”

“Okay, well this is much better and lasts longer.” She’s pointing one of the stick applicators at me. It looks like a tongue depressor from the doctor’s office.

“You wanna try it?” she asks me.

I’m shaking my head looking at the stick.

“I think I’ll “stick” with the razor.” I say laughing and turn to leave.

I’m not sure why I’ve never had a wax job. I know embarrassment has nothing to do with it as I’ve had three children. You lose all innocence when it’s time to give birth. Perhaps I just didn’t like the idea of having someone down there with the “stick.”

A few hours pass and she’s still in the bathroom. Okay, this can’t be good. I peek in her bedroom to see if she’s surfaced and the door immediately opens.

“I’m busy.” She says giving me a stern look.

“Well I didn’t hear any blood curdling screams so I just wanted to check on you and make sure everything is fine.”

“Oh it hurts.” She’s talking in a high pitch voice and wildly nodding her head. I can’t stop laughing now. “You know this isn’t that easy, doing it to yourself.” I’m rolling on the ground laughing so hard.

“Don’t look at me.” I said. She slams the door and I leave holding my side. I’m not about to help or supervise. I changed her diaper enough when she was a baby and I want no part of this. Like I said I think I’ll stick with the razor.

It’s been hours and she’s STILL in the bathroom!

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