In my past, I have waxed spiritual, waxed political, waxed philosophical, but without a doubt, the worst waxing I have done is that of my back.
I am not sure what possessed me to wax my back hair. Granted, I am a very furry man; however it wasn’t as if my back hair was getting caught in the zipper of my dress - and there certainly were not any midgets sneaking up behind me and giving it a hard yank. I didn’t even realize I had back hair until noticed it during my morning shirtless, dance twirls in front of the full size mirror in our bedroom.
Again, I am not sure what possessed me to go through with this shameless stunt about 2 years ago. It could have been several things: curiosity, an inclination for pain, my infatuation with Olympic swimmers, the fact that we would be going to Raging Waters the next day. Well okay, I can pretty much narrow the real reason down the last thing I mentioned. Certainly, I did not want to pull off my shirt at a public swimming pool and have a magical back hair wand waving at the masses in the breeze. I wanted to save my shirtless, public gross outs to the doctors office. No, I had a strong desire to be smooth, silky, eye candy for all of the ladies to enjoy at the pool.
I don’t recall the entire ordeal, but I believe that I caught my beloved wife swallowing quite a few laughs while I squeeled out in horror. Several recent movies have made light of this “procedure” in recent years, but I promise you, not a single one does it justice.
The wax involved is much more “bee’s wax” than say, “candle wax.” In fact, the best way to describe it is, “honey that has been left out for a couple weeks.” In what could have been one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life with my own wife, Cathi spread this concoction on my back using what appeared to be a large popsicle stick. As she swerved the stick back and forward accross my lower back, I could feel my hairs begging - no pleading - for their very souls. Little did I know that the actual spreading would be the least of my worries.
As the moment of truth finally arrived, I found myself lying on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. Apparently Cathi had done this several times as she applied just enough pressure with the bandage into the goo. She didn’t warn me, didn’t count down, didn’t even say “now!” - She simply yanked. As she pulled, I experienced what I like to refer to as “the white light”. I saw myself walking down a tunnel towards the light and in the very distance I could see several of my ancestors. I was home.
I was not there long as Cathi soon brought me back into reality as she yanked the second “wrap” off my back. Unlike the wimps in the movies, I did not scream, did not swear or even yelp. I let out a simple but elegant squeak; much like a small rodent would make if a mousetrap fell on it’s neck. The sound I made could also be described as the same sound a small dog makes if you step on it’s tail. No, it was in fact too painful to bellow; too tormenting for a single curse word. It may have been (besides the two broken legs, being hit by a car and a couple other experiences I have yet to share), the single most painful experience of my life.
I know what you are wondering, “So how was Raging Waters?” Well, I am not sure, but I think that I caught several ladies sneaking peeks at my finely crafted, glassy, sleek back. Although, it could have been because the bottom of my back was still bright red from the beating it took the night before. I’d like to say that at least my beloved Cathi appreciated my waxing. In fact, I believe she did, but only during the waxing.
What can be learned from this torturous, compromising situation? Plenty: 1. Never manwax your back. 2. Always finish a job you start. 3. Make good use of the popsicle stick provided in a waxing package. And... 4. If you choose to manwax, allow your wife to do it as it will allow her to take out most of her aggression on you. She will be flush, loving and guilt ridden for several days afterward. (In fact, you may want to have her manwax you right before football season starts.)