Post Traumatic Wax Syndrome

For those of you who don't know me, this will be a lot of information to take in. But for those of you who do know me, this posting will contain loads of 'TMI' (Too Much Information) which is exactly why you all love me, right? And why I have monogrammed towels in my bathroom that say 'TMI'...just kidding, but I really should! OK, here it goes. Today, I got my first Brazilian bikini wax, thanks to my wonderful boyfriend who bought me the appointment with the 'devil' named Gina. No, no- she was great...I just hate her, as do most of her clients, she informed me. But in a good way, I guess. I had no idea what to expect, so when I arrived at her office in Beverly Hills, I was terrified and as my family knows, I had the "I only get these when I am very scared or nervous or overwhelmed" red blotches on my chest. As I tried to make small talk with the woman whom I just met and would be getting up close and personal with my 'lady parts' in no time, I began to calm down a bit. I mean, how bad could it be, right? Everyone here gets waxed and I haven't heard of that many cases of Post Traumatic Wax Syndrome...so she told me to take off my underwear and lay down on the table....we just met, my dear Gina! So I did what I was told and tried to relax. She got out the hot wax and the cloth strips and went to town in no time, leaving me shocked as to how she could do this with such ease as her "patients" lay trembling on the table, sweating and twitching. After the first 'rip' I asked her how women have babies if bikini waxing was this painful. She answered, "drugs, Erin, drugs". At that moment, I contemplated asking her if she had any drugs. After the second 'rip' I asked her how the second one could possibly hurt more than the first and she just smiled. I knew I was in for it...in for good cry and a few screams. When she was done, I felt a tad violated (one position she had me in involved my legs up in the air and her smearing wax in my booty) and a bit confused. After I tipped Gina (here's a tip- don't ever get a Brazilian wax) I walked out of her office feeling very strange, like I had just woke up from a dream where I was being chased by a giant Popsicle stick dripping with wax but also feeling delirious and immediately called my mom. My mom laughed when I told her that I thought my pain was worse than child birth and as I hung up the phone, I wanted to wrap myself in a giant fleece blanket, put on The Cranberries and cry myself to sleep. I am still a bit sore and feel like my 'Hohannah' (this is what my niece, Aisley calls her lady parts) resembles the head of a condor, but in the end, I have come to the conclusion that not only will I never visit Brazil, but I am also now terrified of candles, ear wax and Madame Tussaud and her frickin' museum.