The first week of June was the time for me to roll back over to the med spa for my third bikini line laser hair removal treatment. Since it was going to be my THIRD rodeo, I was finally armed and ready. Had my chaps and spurs. Or something like that... At any rate, I was no longer a beginner. Honestly, even if I still was a beginner, I was beginning not to care. I NEEDED this treatment. I had been counting down the days. True to the promise of the med spa operator, the hair growth cycle had kicked into high gear. I had been to the pool a handful of times this summer already, and each time I had carefully shaved in the recommended one direction and still suffered the always embarrassing razor burn. And not too mention incredibly painful. ALL my skirted suits had made a complete comeback (for more than one reason, but we are not going to talk about my back fat.). I hope that child wearing goggles who decided it was a good idea to swim through the legs of a stranger is not scarred for life. I will not be held responsible if he needs therapy.
Needless to say, the "fro below" had grown and grown until... well, I've been wearing lots of capris in between shaves this summer. Let's quit talking about this. Both of us are getting a little red in the face. It feels hot in here, and the last thing I need is a case of heat rash to accompany everything else that is ailing my body.
But back to my third scheduled treatment...
I was determined that there were not going to be any awkward moments where I wondered if the whole parking lot could see me reclining in my paper panties or where I asked for paper panties but instead had to remove my jeans to an audience.
I wore a loose dress and a g-string.
There would be no undressing this time. No Sir-ee, Bob! (How in the world do you spell that? And why would I insist on inserting that ridiculous phrase here?)
I arrived at the med spa moments before my scheduled appointment, and unlike the previous two appointments, I was not asked if I was there for spider vein treatment. Instead, the owner said it was nice to see me again and asked how my summer was going. Then, she complimented my green dress and said I looked lovely. Things were going well. My plan was working.
She immediately escorted me to the treatment room. I eagerly hopped on the table and pulled up my dress as she fired up the laser and handed my the sporty goggles.
She had the laser wand in her hand. We had our goggles on. In fifteen minutes I would be one laser treatment closer to bikini freedom. Everything was right with the world.
And then she opened her mouth and began to speak.
"Remember, no exercising for the next twenty-four hours. No getting hot for the next twenty-four hours. Do not expose this area to sun for the next week or two."
What did you say, lady? I had roller derby practice that evening, and it was a practice I didn't want to miss. Plus, LADY, this is TEXAS. And it's summer. It's hot. I could be inside in air-conditioning all day, and I would still get hot.
So, we had "speaks". She told me to come back the next day, so I wouldn't miss derby practice. Then with my dress still pulled up around my waist, she ran her fingers over my bikini stubble and asked when I had shaved last. I had been instructed to shave twelve to twenty-four hours beforehand.
I answered, "Last night. I told you it was growing really fast."
She sighed and replied, "I think you are going to need more than six treatments."
And then I sighed. Because laser hair removal treatments are not cheap.
And then she commented on how broken out I was from shaving.
"It always happens. And waxing gives me ingrown hairs. This is my last resort."
She looks me in the eye and says, "I guess you have no other options. This is going to be good. You are going to like the results. You are going to need more than six treatments."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
I leave the med spa and head to Sephora and Godiva because good chocolate and new nail polish can momentarily distract one from the fact that one has just been called a hairy beast by a woman who deals with hirsute persons daily.
That was Take 2.5. Because I showed up prepared and the laser never got close to me. I know this is a long, long story but I haven't had a peep to say for weeks. It was bound to spill out. Stick with me for just another minute.
The next morning I put on another billowy dress. The g-string, which I had purchased expressly to avoid the paper variety, was in the laundry. I chose the smallest thong in my drawer and decided it would have to do. Even if I had to be her panty-line-shifting assistant.
And I shaved. Carefully. Or so I thought.
She seemed to approve. "You shaved this morning? This will be better."
And she started zapping. And talking. And zapping. Things were going along swimmingly. I had grown almost comfortable being nearly naked from the waist down with this woman I had met twice before. We were talking about vacations and summer.
And then she shifted my thigh to better reach the inside of my thigh. And then she zapped.
She said, "Yeah. You missed a spot. There was some hair there."
One time at derby practice a teammate of mine elbowed me in the nipple during a drill. When we got back in line to wait for our next turn, she apologized and said if she did it again "
I could punch her in her peepee". And then she looked down at her crotch and decided she didn't really mean that.
We both knew that an elbow to the nipple was not a fair trade with a punch in the peepee. A punch to the peepee is never called for.
But lying on the table with my legs pulled up like I was about to give birth, I got punched in the peepee.
When she zapped that time, I may have screamed and jumped off the table a little and cursed the man who decided bathing suits for women didn't need to reach the ankle. There was real pain this time. Private pain. In my lady parts. And I had willing paid for this pain. Pain that I had not experienced in the previous two appointments.
I actually shuddered to the point she noticed. But being stabbed in the vulva (I hate that word.) wasn't that bad. And if it worked, eventually, I would have no need to wax, shave, tweeze, or Nair. I could get up, put on a bathing suit, and not have mothers with small children warn their children that I might have the HIV (rhymes with "give". Thank you forever, Haute Tamale.). I took a deep breath.
"Yeah. That just smarts a little more than before."
"It's because of the hair you missed. I'm almost finished."
And then, she goes there.
Where you might ask?
To unbelievably personal places. For the third time, I might add.
"Why are you not getting a Brazilian laser treatment?"
Now, I realize this is a very popular trend right now, and one I have actually tried. I'm not a fan of taking it all off, and neither is Mr. Incredible. Same thing goes for vag-azzling. There is no reason for glitter and diamonds in the nether regions.
I feel like I have to give an answer though. So I say, "My husband and I don't prefer that."
She looks at me and say, "Hmmm.... easier for you." But the look on her face says she thinks there is something incredibly wrong with the both of us. Whatever.
A few more zaps, and she finishes. I hand her my goggles. I pull my dress down.
We schedule my next appointment for the week after RollerCon, but she tells me she doesn't want me doing a bunch of shaving. She lets me know that if the bush needs to be whacked too frequently that I should come back sooner. The she says again that I am probably going to need more than six appointments, although she isn't sure how many more yet. A couple more. Probably. And she tells me I'm going to be really happy.
So, in the hours prior to my next appointment I will be shaving my lady bits with a mirror in one hand and a razor in the other as to avoid the feeling of being punched in my peepee. I know you are thanking me for providing all these disturbing visual images.
But people are curious about how and if laser treatment works. And people like to know what to expect at and after each appointment. Some people are afraid to ask, and some people are afraid to talk about such delicate matters.
Obviously, I'm not. So, there you go.
It's been a couple of weeks since Takes 2.5 and 3. I haven't had to shave. All the lasered areas are currently smooth, and I hope they will stay that way for a bit longer than they did after the second treatment. At the moment I am undecided as to whether I will schedule any appointments after the six I have already paid for. It will depend on how much real, enduring progress I see after these next three treatments.
It will also depend on how many more times she asks me why I'm not getting all the hair removed.