Waxing is the Worst Way to Lose Two Pounds via In the Powder Room

Waxing Is the Worst Way to Lose Two Pounds

As if getting a bikini wax could be even more awkward and uncomfortable…


Waxing season is upon us, and no one feels the weight of the obligation more than I.

I have been waxing my legs and nether region for nearly 20 years. I have stooped occasionally to the uncivilized practice of shaving, but the hair always grows back coarse, which then makes it excruciating to rip out at the root using hot wax and a piece of torn up bedding. Because otherwise it’s totally, totally fine and not painful at all, you guys. Pinkie promise.

With waxing, you have to let the hair grow a little for “best results.” But I always wait a smidgeon too long; then panic sets in. To combat the inertia, I tried home wax strips. But once I realized I couldn’t swivel my torso 360 degrees around like a Barbie doll, and my husband was reduced to waxing my legs himself. Do you know how many blowjobs that cost me?

Procrastination aside, scheduling has also become inconvenient. I used to have a potted-plant (infant) whom I could plop down and face toward the silent, ubiquitous telenovela. These days, my toddler is less amenable, which means I must pay twice: once to the babysitter and again to the “esthetician” tearing my dignity away, strip by strip, atop crumpling piece of exam table paper.

Consequently, I postpone the inevitable until I can feel hair flapping in the wind when I dare run in shorts. Even then, I spend a week trimming unseemly patches and inventing excuses for the poor soul whose job it will be to remove said hair. We all know those ladies compare notes, right?

So when I say I feel the weight of the obligation, I am not exaggerating. Waxing is my least favorite way to lose two pounds. Of hair.

But at the end of my last period, I decided to take pity on my ever-suffering husband and surprise him with a full-leg-and-bikini wax. I hoisted myself onto the table, signaling my unwillingness to chat by gluing my eyes to my phone while she spread hot, honey-colored wax on my inner thigh with a wooden tongue depressor. So far, so good.

Then it happened.

She grabbed the string of my tampon and tugged.

“Ack!” I screamed.


“That’s my tampon!”

She looked terrified and confused. Maybe her English wasn’t that good.

“Tampon,” I continued. “The String From My Tampon.”

“What is tampon?”

Really? Her English didn’t seem that bad.

“You know, I have my period so I put in a tampon.” I made a gesture of sticking something up my vagina. Classy. Her face was blank.

“PERIOD,” I said, raising my voice, because that’s what you do when someone doesn’t speak English well. You say it louder.

Her eyes widened as torrent of comprehension washed over her face. She had never used one, she explained. She thought it was a string from my underwear; she was moving it out of the way. She obviously felt awful. So I spent the rest of the time I was paying her to tear hair off my legs trying not to laugh or cry as I reassured her it was no big deal. The tampon sticking a quarter of the way out was not bothering me. NOPE, NOT AT ALL.

There are two ways to interpret the Great Tampon-Tugging of 2014: divine retribution designed to teach me not to wait so long next time or proof positive that waxing is hell on Earth and I am vindicated in my quest to submit to it as infrequently as possible.

Which explanation do you imagine I latched on to? Hint: It’s time to lose another two pounds.


Subscribe to our newsletter and never miss a thing!

Debra Cole is a writer and blogger who lives in Brooklyn with a patient husband, an impatient toddler and a sweet but neurotic corgi. You can find her at her blog, www.UrbanMooCow.com, a place for thoughtful analysis of modern parenting—with a side of humor.

Keep the conversation going...



  1. says

    This was great! I read it while eating breakfast and enjoying my coffee! Thank you for the smile first thing this morning!

  2. says

    I just LOLed so hard I’m glad there was no tampon up there *making classy gesture to indicate location*.


  3. says

    Although initially hillarious, later I thought about the immigrant woman, doing the job. It reveals the kind of jobs that immigrants are willing to do in order to survive, and an underlying language barrier and education gap between two very different worlds, that collide in the same room.

  4. says

    You mean yelling TAMPON didn’t help? I would rather sprout extra pubes than go through even one minute of what you did. But I do appreciate you writing about it!

  5. says

    Um, I REALLY regret not talking to you more at BlogU. We CLEARLY are kindred souls or something. It’s stories like this that have me more convinced than ever that a little “trimming the hedges” is the way to go. Dear God.

  6. says

    That was hilarious. And gross. And I’m so laughing out loud. The whole situation is just ridiculous. It’s not like you can relax during a waxing but this had to just make it that much worse.

  7. says

    This is too much. LOL. More evidence of why I’ll never do this. I feel like I’d end up either in the ER or a mental institution for whatever kind of scarring I get as a result. You are brave! I don’t even get manicures because that creeps me out. Yes, I have issues.

  8. says

    this is sooo funny I never waxed and wanted to try it out this summer but u got me feeling some type of way (scared). I may just stick to shaving for now :(

    xoxo, Anni

  9. says

    OMG! I am horrified and laughing so hard!!! I can’t even imagine, not even a little! And that you stayed like that?! WHAT?! The story was funny enough up until that point! I only wax my “underpits” as the boy calls them, that is enough torture for me. But it’s funny because I HATE when it’s too long to go sleeveless but too short to wax. But at least I know there will never be a mistake like yours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!