I told you back at my birthday that I had purchased six sessions of laser hair removal as one of my gifts, and I promised you I would let you know about the experience.
So, I am keeping my word and giving you the downlow on the whole thing. And when I say "DL", I mean "DL" because it was bikini line hair removal.
Don't worry. There are no pictures. I wouldn't want you to have to gouge your eyes out or anything.
I have to tell you I was nervous about this. First off, I don't like being NAKED in front of complete strangers. Second, "people" told me that it is painful. And third, NAKED, NAKED, NAKED.
Sometimes I think I should be over the naked thing because of all the people who saw me birth children, but I am not. You will not see me running around naked at the spa. Ever. It's just not necessary. By all means, if you like it, go for it. For me, a bikini is naked enough.
At any rate, I found the joint and went inside not entirely sure what to expect.
And I was greeted by a man.
Crap. This was going downhill quickly.
He asked me to have a seat in the waiting area out front. And momentarily, he escorted me to another room with chairs and a computer. He asked me to sit down again and handed me some paperwork to fill out.
And then a beautiful woman came in and started talking to me about the procedure.
Crisis averted. And now I didn't have to worry about how I was going to get my money back because I was not taking my pants off for a man that did not have M.D. behind his name.
I was taken to a small procedure room where I was handed a small square plastic package and some baby wipes.
I puzzled at the little square, and the beautiful woman must have read my face. She told me I was going to need to take my panties off and put those panties on. The baby wipes were for wiping the areas that would be lasered in case I had applied any medication or lotion.
After she exited, I opened up the package, changed into its contents, and climbed onto the table. And felt the breeze. Which was chilly.
Lying on an examination table sans pants waiting for the beautiful woman to enter, the thought that enters my mind is how exactly do I get comfortable lying here in paper panties.
I feel stiff and awkward lying there with my hands by my side. But it seems TOO comfortable to reach back and put my hands behind my head. Like, "Hi! I'm just chillin' in my new panties. You wanna hang for awhile."
Yeah, weird awkward turtle-type stuff like that goes through my head all the time. It's a problem.
So, I settle on folding my hands over my stomach and focus on trying to relax my shoulders. They are always so tense lately. I probably need to go see my friend Fluffy for a massage, but I have massage neurosis as well. Someday...
I'm lying there as comfortable as I am going to get without pants, and then, I stupidly decided to turn my head and look toward the window.
Big mistake. HUGE mistake.
The blinds are turned so that one standing on the street could look up and into the room. And I'm lying on a table that is higher than the bottom of the window.
Oh. My. Quad. (translation for non roller derby types: Oh my super cool, non-inline, four-wheeled skate!)
So, of course, I'm instantly uncomfortable again. I wonder how to proceed. It's been a few minutes since the beautiful lady left the room. If I jump up and run across the room to turn the blinds, will I be standing there by the window with my paper-covered backside at full exposure when she enters the room OR will I be attempting to scramble back onto the table with one leg up as she returns OR do I have enough time to complete the task, return to the table, and look like I never got up?
It takes me about .0001 seconds to decide that the risk of having a complete stranger on the ground floor peer up and into the room while I am lying there in disposable undergarments is far less humiliating than the risk of having the beautiful woman return just as I am hiking my paper-clad bottom back onto the table.
So, I lie there in all my glory until she returns SECONDS later. I had made a VERY good call.
She briefly explains the basics of what she is about to do and turns some dials. I'm handed some doltish looking goggles to complete my supermodel look and protect my eyes from being blinded for life. Then, she begins.
Zap, zap, zap. Pause. Wipe. Zap, zap, zap. Pause. Wipe.
And so it goes for the next few minutes.
As she finishes, I tell her how relieved I am that there was no pain. Much less pain than waxing. I hand her the rockstar goggles, and she tells me that she is glad that I am able to tolerate the laser so well. We smile. It's all quite touching.
Then, she hands me a tube of Desitin and tells me to apply it to the areas that have just received treatment. I take the tube from her hand, squeeze a dab into my hand, and look at her. She tells me to just daub it on. She stands there.
I realize that she is not going to leave the room. More awkwardness. I begin to dot the Desitin on myself and she praises me like a puppy. "That's right! All over!"
She tells me to get dressed and come out of the room when I am ready.
I immediately toss those disposable unmentionables into the trash can and gratefully pull on my jeans.
I schedule my second appointment, leave, and head over to the mall. After that much stress, a girl can stand to unwind by checking out the latest spring fashions at Nordstrom.
Results? For me, the pain at the first appointment was negligible. I won't see actual results for around three weeks. The laser strength will be increased at the next appointment. We'll see.