My vaginal angst

‘Hey Violet, good to see you, can’t believe it’s already holiday time.’

Ruby showed me to the tranquility room then waited discreetly while I got ready.

I slipped off my dress, stepped out of my underwear and lay half naked on the table.

I was about to go through the pre-beach ritual.

The ritual that I always go through before a holiday.  A leg wax and a bikini wax. To make sure my legs are super smooth and that not a single hair dares escape my bikini.

Ruby put my legs in the diamond position, knees down on either side. Then she stood over me with thick, hot, dripping wax.

‘We’re going to make you sparkle,’ she said, eying my vagina. ‘Brazilian this time? French?’

I’ve had a full on Brazilian before, had no clue what a French was, and anyway, just wanted a trim.

‘Just a clean up please. Like a triangle.’

No matter what you choose, a bikini wax is not fun. The wax is hot, the ripping hurts like crazy and your bits get all pink and swollen.

Also, it’s expensive.

And you have someone you barely know touching and inspecting your vagina.

I suddenly wondered why on earth I was doing this.

Does it matter so much if a few hairs are visible? Or even a whole lot?

Was I doing it for me? Was I doing it because it’s kinda expected in today’s society? Or was I doing it for men?

I went ahead anyway. Because I am vain. And conditioned to thinking I should look tidy and hairless.

Because I feel I should sparkle.

I tried to talk about my vaginal waxing angst with Ruby but she wasn’t really interested. She gets paid to do a job. Probably not very much and probably not enough to wax her own vagina. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even go on holiday.

Just before she finished she dropped a blob of hot wax on my pretty pink lips. It was hot. Boiling hot. And it was very very sore.

She didn’t mean to do it and was hugely apologetic. I reassured her and told her I would survive.

But now I am at home. And have a vaginal burn. And I am not feeling very tranquil.

I think there is  hidden meaning here somewhere. A metaphor for something.

If only I knew for what.


9 thoughts on “My vaginal angst

  1. Hmm. I keep getting metaphors that are close but don’t quite cut it. Like “the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long” but will your vagina really burn half as long now, and is it really burned twice as bright? See, just not quite right.


  2. Have you ever considered laser? I went a bit and things got less… But I wish I could throw money at it and never have that issue again. I could donate all my untidy follicles to people so bald they wouldn’t care about having curly pube fro, or the possibility of pubic graft vs host…. Ugh. A girl can dream.


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