TODO is one daily thing recommended for you, by us.
A few years ago, when the Brazilian bikini wax craze first hit, we dutifully trekked to our local salon and subjected ourselves to the excruciatingly painful
defenestration deforestation process. We'd had regular bikini waxes before, but this was a new, almost euphoric level of pain. (This is Balk, btw.) Then, the growing-in process was painful, involving many ingrown hairs and lots of itching. It was not a process that was to be repeated. There was also the tale of a friend of a friend who'd practically had her bits torn off by an overzealous waxer, which seemed wholly unappealing as well.
But then a friend told us about a salon in the West Village called Eve, and in particular, a waxer named Maya. Maya, this friend told us, rendered all previous negative bikini wax experiences null and void thanks to her light, speedy touch. We were skeptical at first, but our friend insisted we give Eve, and Maya, a try.
After the jump, the full Eve experience, including the immortal words: "Okay, now you turn over, and hold your butt cheeks open!"
When we arrived, we were whisked into a waxing room, where the cheerful Maya instructed us to undress, and left the room. Being somewhat prudish, we left our underwear on, which Maya tsk-tsked when she returned. We sheepishly removed. She then asked how much we wanted taken off. We indicated we wanted a small strip left, whose width she asked us to indicate with our fingers. Next thing we knew, she was going at it.
We've got to hand it to her—bitch was fast. We barely had time to blink, let alone tear up, before large sections of our nether regions were being removed with alacrity. She was also reassuring, telling us that it wouldn't be much longer now. (Rrrrip!) "You want me to do lips, yes?" she asked in her Russian accent. We nodded, barely, not really thinking. Wait—lips? Those lips? we thought, panicked, as she hoisted our leg in the air. Just when we thought we couldn't take anymore, she said, "Okay! Almost done. Now you turn over, and hold your butt cheeks open!" Aha, we thought, flipping over awkwardly and stickily, on the paper she'd rolled on the table. We felt vaguely like a newly shorn lamb.
We did as we were told, now feeling vaguely like a gay porn star, while she applied the hot wax to our inner butt cheeks and pulled. Strangely, it was the least painful part of the whole ordeal. Afterwards, she instructed us to apply hydrocortisone cream or Neosporin to it when we got home, and to exfoliate with a loofah. Also, she said, we should apply Tend Skin to avoid ingrown hairs. We nodded, numbed and yet, strangely refreshed.