Taking Care Of Those Ladybits

The struggle is real, my friends!  Much like dating, there is a meet-and-greet, an interview session and a lot of pain.  More yours than hers.  Okay, all yours.  It is almost like trying to find a OB/GYN you feel comfortable with.

I don’t get weirded out about doctors looking at my in-between because that’s so clinical. Sure, your stuff is being violently prodded by metallic things while some chick in a nurse’s outfit is standing in a corner watching, but at least you’re partially covered with a paper gown. My doctor even puts a paper-towel sized sheet over my legs and makes a curtain to hide behind like he’s some kind of Wizard of Vag. And that’s great, because then I don’t have to see his face and analyze every expression and wonder why the heck he’s smirking, smiling, frowning, or looking liked he’s just plain frightened of my lady junk. One time he even asked me if he could bring some interns in to check out my stuff, and I said, “Sure! The more the merrier!”

So you finally find THE ONE.  You're comfortable enough to make conversation while she's all up in your business.  She doesn't cause excruciating pain.  Yay!

After trying a few different people, I had finally found one that I loved. The pain level was low, the conversation was fun, and the awkwardness wasn’t even an issue because we were having such a good time talking that I totally forgot she was grooming my cracks and crevices.

Then one day I received the call that no waxee ever wants to receive: She had left to take another job. A better job. A job that didn’t involve looking at my vagina.
She was going to be a hairstylist.
She was leaving the south and heading north.

Crap!  Now the whole process starts over.  You grieve at the loss.  You can't believe she'd betray you like this!

It was like my marriage was ending and I had to start “dating” again, and every first date involved letting the person see my crotch up close. So basically I got a divorce and became a whore.
Last week I tried the third in what was turning out to be a very long line of rebound waxers.

Thank God for Groupon.  It makes it possible (and affordable) to test-drive new waxers.  But just as there are awesome ones, there are ones who are not so much.

This new girl was very quiet. “Quiet” as in she didn’t say a word. There was no music in the room either. So basically I was just lying there, pantsless, legs akimbo, in a room so eerily quiet that you could hear a pubic hair drop. That kind of silent awkwardness is just not OK with me. I like chit-chat. I like to tell jokes. I like laughter. I like singing. I like to yell out inventive curses as the wax is brutally ripped off of my nether parts. (Sweet Baby Jesus on a Tilt-a-Whirl and Holy Ballsack are two of my favorites.)
But this girl wasn’t having that.
Plus, she had long hair. We’re talkin’ Crystal Gayle, ’60s Cher, Duggar girl kinda long.

It is an agonizing process.  Find out how this disaster date turns out at Scary Mommy, and let us know your horror stories.