Houseful of Wax

So I was standing naked in my bathroom with one leg propped up on the counter, hot wax smeared haphazardly about me bits, my hands, my head and on the floor and I got to thinking... WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?

The answer of course is Valentine's Day. That's right, sometime back in Ye Olde Days Mother Mary and Sister Gretchen were in their kitchen having this conversation:

MM: Oh my the honey is so olde it's gone crystalized!
SG: Hark! We'll just heat it back up to melt it. Let me bring thine candle closer so you can see. WHOOPS!
MM: Ye filthy wench you've spilled hot wax and honey all over mine hirsute arm.
SG: Let me just rip it off real quick.
MM: $%$%&%$*&%SIR FRANCIS BACON!@#$%$#!$!%$&*&*

And then they decided instead of throwing out the sticky mess that they would save it for future holidays where they would trick girls into putting heart shapes around their hoohas. Periodically, even I, the un-womanliest woman, have been tempted to do a tasteful topiary elsewhere than on my head. This is always a stupid idea.

Let me preface this next part by stating that I am a mild masochist. Even as a child I enjoyed tugging those loose teeth until they bled then licking my sore gums and thinking how it hurt, but in such a good way. But as I stood there, with hot wax drying rapidly on my down under I thought, not for the first time Am I going to have to go to the hospital to have this removed?

Teetering slightly on one foot I braced myself and grabbed the edge of the wax. Breathing rapidly changed from yogini calm to panicked Lamaze class as I pulled ever so slightly suddenly performing high level physics calculations in my head. Mass times acceleration equals minimum bloodshed + maximum screaming, no wait, minimum screaming divides by the angle and momentum... RIP! Blasphemy$*%#@blasphemy $%#@* Followed by waiting for the heart rate to settle down.

Unfortunately this can't all be done in one swipe and requires not only patience but multiple offenses with enough swearing to offend all the different religions of the world and future galactic colonies as well. In short I gave up somewhere around Siva and skull chucking after accidentally dipping my head hair into the tub of wax and having to cut off a sizeable chunk with scissors.

If any man is reading this right now and they have a woman with a neatly tended English garden below the belt line, kudos to you for finding someone crazier than me.