The Mini Van Soap Box

About six months ago, I wrote this. It's a riveting piece about my girl parts. And here I go again.

Even though in July, I wrote the words "my last laser hair removal appointment", that turned out to not be the case. I'm still doing it six months later...with no end in sight. What follows is a description of the very odd day I had on Tuesday.

It all began last Friday when I got a call from the Laser people. They explained to me that the machine that I'm usually treated on is down and they'll need to switch me to a different one. Apparently the reason for the call is that the other machine is stronger, and can hurt more. I basically gave a non-committal harrumph and followed with something to the extent of "won't make a damn bit of difference anyway"... (translation: thieving whores who are just trying to get my money and probably not lasering me at all...") Upon hearing my joy at what will probably be another unsuccessful appointment, they explained that I probably should have been on this "stronger machine" from at least my third appointment.

Now you tell me.

It was then explained, that for this appointment, I would need to use a numbing cream on the treatment areas, since the machine is stronger and not in the "pain free" category. A prescription was called in, and I was to apply the cream to the treatment areas...and then wrap said areas with plastic.

I'm sorry...could you repeat that?

Yep, you got it. I had to lather this crap in my armpits and crotch and then wrap myself in saran wrap. And let me just tell you right now - wrapping your armpits in saran wrap is a physical impossibility. The sole function of saran wrap is to stick to itself...not skin. So, unless I intended to drive 30 minutes with both of my arms sticking out the sun roof, there was no way this stuff was going to stay in place. Sad part was, it took me four attempts with one armpit to figure that out.

Covering my crotch SEEMED easy enough, in theory. Put the stuff on, then a layer of saran wrap, then underwear, then pants. Easy enough. However, just like putting a child in a snowsuit, the second I got all my shit together, I had to pee. And since most women wipe after pee'ing - I needed to do the whole thing over again.

So now I've got 2 applications on my crotch, 4 on one armpit and almost none of the other.

In case you were wondering at this point in the story what it feels like to numb your coochie and then wrap it in saran wrap....it's not enjoyable. Between the goo of the cream, the saran wrap, sitting and the heat of the car - it essentially feels like I've poured a bottle of cooking oil down my pants and am trying to cook it with my vagina.

I finally reach my destination to only be told that because of the medication I'm on for my Angel-verse migraines, I should never have used the cream in the first place, and that I can't have my treatment that day because my meds and the laser apparently don't mesh.

So, if you saw a women at the mall on Tuesday, looking as though she had a log shoved up her ass, hot vegetable oil pooling at her feet, and poking herself repeatedly in the armpit.....That was me.