Waxing Disaster
It was a normal Friday night. I had a long day at work, as usual, and stopped to pick up my favorite bottle of wine. I had plans to stay in that night, get take-out Chinese and wax my legs. I had tried several times in the past to wax my legs, but never got all the way through. That Friday night was different, I had a plan. I was going to drink the wine; it would dull my senses enough to stop me from chickening out when I felt the first pain. I thought I had it all worked out, boy was I wrong.
I walked in and greeted Sylvester, my new kitten. He was such a cute little fur ball with long black and white hair. I fed him and told him the stories of my day as I always did. We sat on the deck to our one bedroom apartment and ate our dinner. I started on my bottle of wine and filled Sylvester in on the plan for waxing. I was anxious to get started, so I cleaned up as quickly as I could and went to the bathroom to get the at home wax kit I had bought two days before. I read through the directions, wanting to be sure I wasn’t missing anything and took the bottle of purple goo to the microwave to heat up. I had cleared away a space in the middle of my living room floor to do the deed. My bathroom was way too tiny and this way I could watch my favorite show while I was waxing. In my head this all seemed like such a good idea. This was going to be so easy.
Something in my subconscious must have been sending me signals that this was a bad idea, because I had downed half of the bottle of wine by the time I started the actual waxing. I figured if I put more than one strip on my leg at a time, I would be forced to rip them all off and not chicken out. Sort of like an insurance policy. One way or another I would get my legs waxed this time, of this I was certain. I took the hot bottle of goo out of the microwave and sat down on the living room floor, poured myself another glass of wine and was ready to start. Sylvester looked at me like I belonged in a loony bin. He might have been right. He must have decided that this was one scene he didn’t want to miss, because he laid down at my feet and peered at me with curious eyes.
I smeared the gunk on my right leg and put three strips on, praying I had had enough wine to dull the pain of ripping the hairs from my leg. I pulled the first strip and I remembered in an instant why I had never finished this task before. It isn’t only that it is painful. It is that it is painful and must be repeated several times in the same area to be effective. My eyes moved as if watching a tennis match, from the strip to the now red patch on my leg. I became rather irritated when I saw that only about half of the hair on that patch was on the strip. This meant I would have to do this again on this very sore area of my leg and I decided I would not do that. However, this also meant that I had to do something with the other two strips that were still on my leg. I folded the used strip and put it on the floor next to my leg. I downed my glass of wine and while I was trying to figure out how to get the other two wax strips off of my leg, Sylvester was inspecting the used strip.
“No Sylvester, bad kittie!” He just looked at me, again, like I was a complete nut job. So, he stepped back and into the lid of the wax that just happened to still have some wax on it. Now, if you have never seen a kitten with wax on his foot, it is a site to see. He shook his paw, then put his front paws together, then couldn’t figure out how to get his front paws separated. During this, he managed to roll onto the used strip and had it stuck to his back. I caught him, gently separated his paws and tried my best to wash his feet clean. The strip on his back was a more difficult chore. It was stuck rather well to the long coat he had. By the end of the struggle, he was missing a small patch of hair on his back and I had gained about a dozen scratches on my arms. And, I still had to deal with these other two wax strips. I decided to pull them off carefully and throw the whole mess in the garbage. I went back to my spot and got to work. Two down, one to go and here comes Sylvester. I don’t know if he had decided he needed to get back at the wax or if he was just short a little common sense, but this time he stuck his paw in the bottle of wax sitting on the floor next to me and took off running.
I chased the poor cat through my tiny apartment, trying to get him to slow down enough to catch him. After about ten minutes, he stopped under my bed and I was able to coax him out. By the time I got him, he was missing several small patches of fur on his left leg, wax on his head, and little bits of wax in countless areas of my carpet. I ripped the last strip from my leg and rushed to the living room to dispose of the demonic wax that had destroyed my well-planned evening.
In the end, Sylvester and I were both missing patches of hair and rather irritable. He sulked for a week; I suppose he blamed me for his misadventure with the wax. I blamed the gorgeous model on the cover of the wax box that enticed me to try this devilish concoction yet again. Now, when I think about how nice it would be to have perfect legs and not have to shave; I see Sylvester under my bed, patches of hair missing and looking at me like the epitome of evil for introducing him to such a horrible nightmarish idea, and I am able to resist. Now, if I could just give myself an equally stunning reminder that when I try to dye my hair bleach blonde, it turns orange, every time, I might stop doing that as well, but that is another story.
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