A two-alarm blaze tore through my own personal downtown this evening in what was undeniably my first bikini wax. Keely at Wax On was gentle and kind. I had a full shot of whiskey before being lead to the table where my loin cloth was waiting. The loin cloth was like a pacifier – it’s only purpose being to self-sooth. Keely surveyed the park blocks which had been more or less untended this winter. Fortunately, I felt no modesty whatsoever. I was fine with her touching me during the preparations. They get right in there too. But I was anxious about the pain and for good reason. While next door the other wax-artist, Kristin, and her client gabbed effortlessly without the slightest hint that entire sheets of hair were being ripped from the client’s skin, I was taking deep breaths, gasping, giggle-squealing and panting with tears in my eyes. I would much rather get a tatoo. Ten exruciating minutes later it was over and she left me to lick my wounds. Q: Why do dogs lick their balls? A: Because they can. And believe me, I would too if I could. I almost plunged both fists into an open container of shea butter on the counter to slather it all over my red hot skin (surely steam would have risen), but for sanitary reasons I restrained myself.
Now that the fire has been reduced to a smoldering memory I must say I admire the work. The entire neighborhood is revitalized. It has curbside appeal. And a good thing too, because even though it’s not on the market in T-minus three days I will be lounging by the pool at the Mirage sipping many blended drinks with my galpals and we are going to be working that shit!