Tuesday, May 17, 2011


Kk, I've had a cocktail or two and just come in from a few shots of Bailey's on the deck. I happened to catch a glimpse of Australia's version of Sex In The City. There's a fat chick with bright red hair screaming about her "vajazziling appointment" gone wrong and suddenly it cuts to her best mate waxing her pink bits.

So does not happen.

And not cos she's chubby with red hair.

I've been chubby with red hair. I've been slim with blonde. I've been dark and in between. And any combination of the above.

But there is no effin way I'm calling over any 'best mate' to wax my crotch. For so many reasons.

First, we all saw this on an episode of the Kardashians. And if you didn't, probably you shouldn't be writing for a girlie show.

My sister lives in Canada and doesn't know anything about waxing so she's probably not a candidate. The other people that are close enough to come in contact with my hairy female flaps in Australia are:

1. Joe, my husband : Even if he would do it, I wouldn't invite him into the dungeon. Regardless if he's a fan of the hairless Brazilian or the wild bush of the seventies, he is not who I am going to call to contain the wilderness below. I'm happy for him to get behind the mower and keep the garden of Red Rock trim. It is my job to maintain 1 Happy St. Garden of Eden.

2. Rebecca: Rebecca saw my crotch in all it's elastic glory during the birth of my second child. Rebecca lives in a haze of lavender and high altitude oxygen from Byron Bay and she'd probably try to massage it off or just meditate it into another sphere. Or just encourage it to grow like her chamomile patch.

3. Marika: Marika is my sweet friend from Byron that I met when she was a lil thing of seventeen. She's done a beauty course, runs a salon and has adamantly refused to wax the bacon strip. She gave me about fifty percent of the fodder for my stand up comedy routine in 2001. But she's not gonna dive between my lets to strip me down to adolescence.

So that leaves me. And watching that show, I'm wondering if the writer (male?) has not only no female friends, but no female experience.

And I am not the only person to do what I am about to tell you.


Okay, I know there are heaps of chicks out there going, fuck that shit - no way! But you all live in some urban area where you can go to that anonymous Korean Bathhouse where they wax you as bald as a baby without even knowing your name, but for us country girls it ain't that easy.

I can't call my neighbour and say, hey, can you wax my crotch for me today? No. I have to do it myself.

Why am I doing this? I don't know. I'm married. I'm happy. He seems happy. I can trim, I can grow, I can shave. I don't think he notices or cares. But it's a girl thing. I don't go to the gym, I don't hang out at the beach (and I mean that in the literal hirsute way) and I'm not doing macrame with pubes.

But I thought late one night while Joe was away I'd give it a burl. A burl! Like it was that easy! Just wax the shit off!

I don't know about your fan, but mine's had two children go through it and, while it ain't fringed, it's ruffled. That Mini Austin gateway let two Mac trucks through it. My two kids heads were 98% percentile and off the chart respectively. The last kid was nine pounds. Lisa Rinna might have a trout pout, but my nether pout is more resembling a Port Jackson Shark.

Waxing a Port Jackson Shark is a fucking challenge. Laying the wax on is nothing once you getbeyond the burn. But fucking tearing the fucking wax and hair of is another fucking story. Like, lay down and imagine the pull you are willing to give to the areas you have to wax. Then imagine, and I'm telling you that you gotta be laying down, imagine those areas being well above your head before the short and curlies tear from your flesh into the purple wax of death. Listen to the sound of your skin fluddberdijubbing back into your crotch. Cos that's exactly the sound it's gonna make.


FLURK FLURK FLURK - the sound of wax going on

WHHSSHH WHHSSHH - the sound the air makes as you try to cool the burning wax

HOLY MOTHER FUCKER - not really onomatopoeia, but you will make this sound, cos that hot wax shit burns

WHOO WHOO WHOO - the sound you make as you prepare to rip the now cooled wax off

CHHHHRRRRRRIIIKKKKKK - the sound the first two centimeters of wax being ripped off makes

OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD FUCK OH FUCK SHIT FUCK - again not really onomatopoeia, but you will make this sound, because ripping out pubes out of your pink bits hurts like a mother fucker

CHRIK - the sound you will hear for the next half hour as you try to pry the hot wax off your pink bits centimeter by centimeter.

HUH HUH HUH - the sound you will make when you have one strip left (or two depending if you've decided to go with the half flap mo or not....)

CHRRRIIIKKKK- the sound of the last super fast tear you make just to get it over and done with

PAH SCHWING PA WUBBA WUBBA WUBBA - the sound you will hear when your pee flaps stretch to as far as your arm can reach, then finally let go of those last few hairs and then come slapping back down to your crotch where they belong.

I think there's plenty of room for a seventies renaissance.

And that fucking show should be cancelled. It makes my besties feel bad that they aren't good enough.

So now I'm going to do a poll. In the comments can you tell me - have you waxed another woman's crotch? And if so, was it for free? And if you say yes to that as well, can you come and do mine?


  1. Hand up to rock trims but no pee flap stretching under the hand of hot wax strips! Us girlies all gotta pitch in and give each other's crotch some help where hairy necessity prevails. Me - I go it alone as well. Can't be fucked listening to inane conversation - prefer the sound of one flap flapping and me screaming...

  2. Ha ha! I really think, with the right bass line and drum beat, I Wax Myself could be the next rock anthem. Not so sure about how the live performance would go though...