I count the days down to my regular body wax appointments.
They are the most intensely private periods of ‘me’ time that I can ever enjoy – yes, even more private than…well, you know…that…and that too.
My life seems anchored to those regular points where I visit the trusted salon, strip off, lie back, and allow myself to be subjected to the pain that is having a large amount of body hair torn out by the root all in one go, yet perfectly able to get through it thank you very much.
I go in, get something or other done, pay the bill and go about my other business, getting myself through it, however good, bad or indifferent the waxing session might be, because the end result is very much worth it for me, my unsuspecting other, and for Fiona.
I’ve harped on about the long-standing hang up over my body hair, my long-standing hirsutedness, the fierce and angry objection to even the merest first signs of growth after about two weeks of being smooth, and that the various types, strengths and thicknesses of body hair coupled with the amount of time I’ve been going for appointments now, means that the growth really is showing signs of dying off, permanently perhaps? Well, yes, maybe, but as a cynic and pessimist, I’m not prepared to acknowledge that right now, despite seeing positive signs.
There is a first time for everything though and with an appointment booked the other week, I made my way, arriving on-time despite the traffic and getting myself undressed for the session that lay ahead.
That ‘first time for everything’ moment came when the job in hand stalled at the very beginning. I’ll be honest. I’d been sub-consciously making observations about the extent of hair growth across my body in the preceding days. There didn’t seem to be as much in quite a few places, yet there I was, due for another appointment at the salon.
Still, I wasn’t the expert, and there I was, at the appointment, naked, flat out, ready to be have done whatever it was that it was deemed needed doing. It wasn’t long before the question came up in conversation. There were suggestions as to what could be done, yet none of it seemed even remotely necessary at the time, instead effort being made to find SOMETHING to justify me getting and being there.
I stood up off the massage table and did a sort of naked twirl in the brightly lit private room, as if that was going to help somehow, and I guess it did really. Here I was, naked, not even a watch or ring on, arguably in a state of vulnerability whilst the person who does my waxing carried out the inspection to help reach a decision once and for all that would be agreed and confirmed by both.
Their eyes did what they needed to, whilst the light-touch of the palms of hands wafted gently around my upper torso to sense hair levels, thickness and mass, aiding the type of decision making process that had never necessary before, hands softly brushing, breezing perhaps, so, so softly yet so quickly over my already hardened nipples at a time of year when things were getting a little parky outside!
For a fleeting moment of a fleeting moment of a fleeting moment, a spark of sexuality was lit and as equally quickly snuffed out as one of my erogenous zones was touched, the snuff-out coming despite my evident sexual vulnerability and overarched by the professionality of the person and environment I was in.
After a minute or two of deliberation, tinged with surprise at this first ever situtation, it wasn’t long before both of us conceded that it just wasn’t beneficial to do anything and that a new appointment should be arranged.
So, as quick as I’d undressed, I was back dressed again – and ready for the journey home.
In, off, on, out.
A wasted journey? Yes, but apart from costs incurred in getting there, no real inconvenience really.
I mused as to how I could have avoided the waste of time.
If you’re ill, you’ll consult a medical expert, if there are dental issues, you visit a dentist. If your hair is too long or untidy, you’ll visit a hairdressers or barbers, if you’re unfit, you may well get a fitness coach. In all of those scenarios, there is an end product to resolve the initial problem or a route towards resolving it at least, but for a professional to adjudge as to whether a body wax is necessary, I see only one solution – to let that professional take a look, and that means going to their place of work surely?
Yes, I didn’t think I was ready beforehand, but not with any real conviction and not based on any previous experience. As far as I was concerned, I must have been ready because another regular appointment on the calendar had come around, much like it had before – the type that sets those prominent points on the timeline of my life.
On-line consultation perhaps? Some industries do just that, however, given the extent of detail to be examined to reach a decision, that’s not feasible, reliant on good quality IT, and in any case, very much open to misinterpretation etc. I mean, going on line before a webcam? Really!