Embarrassing Questions

Embarrassing Questions

When my friend Pat asked “What was the most embarrassing question you ever had to ask a professional?” I immediately had an answer, and doubt I’ll ever top the story I’m about to tell you, so read on for a little comic relief.

I’m independent and resourceful, and always looking for ways to improve things, reallocate finances, or streamline processes. Which is why I once (emphasis on once) made the brilliant decision to save a shit ton of money by doing my own bikini waxing. I was on a friend’s license at a beauty supply store and (it’s obvious this isn’t going anywhere good, right?) I’d seen it done a b(r)azillion times, so I was confident that I could handle it.
I bought the “student kit” version of the salon wax warmer, set it up in my bathroom, and read the instructions, thinking “I got this…no problem.” (Spoiler: I didn’t and there was.)
The first few strips went perfectly, so I admit I may have been a little overconfident, but the farther, uh, down, I went, the more of a contortionist I needed to be to maintain proper technique. To the credit of the trainer I’d been working with at the Y, my contortionism held true until what would’ve been the second to the last strip. (As it turned out, it was the last.) Instead, disaster struck. My left glute had fallen asleep, and I shifted. Involuntarily. Thereby sealing my fate. And my butt cheeks. Together.
I knew I was in trouble the second I moved, but I stayed calm and tried to think. Melting it seemed like a good idea, so a hot bath was my first (and worst) solution. It only glued my butt together more. The soap didn’t even remotely dissolve it. Neither did hair conditioner or baby oil. By that time I had to pee, which was awkward. Then the toilet paper stuck to the wax. Which was when I started crying.
Having taken painting classes in college, I’d worked with various solvents, some of which I still had, but none of which I wanted near my hoo-ha (and was smart enough not to try). So I wrapped myself in a towel and sat my glued butt down at the computer in hopes of a solution to my “accident,” but the internet failed to deliver.
Which was when I broke down called the girl who did (and should have been doing) my waxing and relayed my predicament between sobs, along with the promise that I would never cheat on her with myself ever again if she would just tell me how to unglue my ass without tearing the skin off. Which she did, and to her credit, she only laughed a little and was very gracious. She also got a really big tip the next time I saw her. And that was the most embarrassing question I ever had to ask a professional. 😀

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