I’d been blogging for over four years before I realized that my life was an open blog. It was the day I blogged about letting my cousin Melissa do laser hair removal on my bikini area. Her coworkers thought this would be an awkward procedure to perform on one’s cousin, but just know mine was not the last related vulva Melissa’s laser got to meet.
If you’ve ever gotten a tattoo, that’s kind of what laser hair removal feels like–on your vagina.
Fortunately, the pain was a good distraction from the fact that my cousin was all up in my hot pocket.
Oddly enough, the awkward part wasn’t her lasering around the folds of my labia. Rather, it was when she asked me to turn over so she could get me from behind.
“You could at least buy me dinner first,” I remember thinking.
When your life is an open blog, you begin to believe that your imaginary readership relies on your full disclosure for those sorts of things.
So full disclosure, this was my cousin Melissa’s reaction when she was lasering me from the front:
“Wow you have very little hair down here, you freak.”
This was my cousin Melissa’s reaction when she was lasering me from the back:
“Ah there’s the hair!”
Fifteen minutes later, my first session was done. I was told I could expect a 20-30 percent hair reduction per session, and my next session was scheduled for four weeks later.
The next time I went home for a laser appointment, I strategically timed it for when my sister Sammy was getting her wisdom teeth out so I could give her a ride home from the oral surgeon, help her recover, and maybe get a few vicodin out of the whole ordeal.
She ended up getting dry sockets, so the morning after my second laser hair removal appointment I took her back to the oral surgeon to get some cloves inserted.
Afterwards, we decided to hit up a local diner that serves its meals the way I like them–barely visible beneath all the gravy. (One year, instead of making a New Years resolution to lose weight, I decided to take baby steps and resolved to stop putting gravy on everything I eat. I now reserve gravy for special occasions like Thanksgiving instead of adding it to food the way most people add salt and pepper.).
As the waiter set our gravy boats in front of us, he took a big whiff, scrunched up his nose, and said, “Wow there’s a really strong smell coming from your table.”
Now, I certainly didn’t think I could possibly be the worst smelling item in a small town diner.
“If it smells like burnt hair, it’s because I just had laser hair removal,” I said as I forked a piece of gravy soaked sourdough and beef in my mouth.
“Ummmm…. What? No. It smells more like.. Cinnamon.”
“Ohhhhh that must be the cloves I just had put in my dry sockets,” Sammy said.
All in all, I would recommend having your cousin laser your privates. If your cousin isn’t certified to do that, you could always borrow mine.
