Before I begin, I must note that this blog post is about hair removal. If you don't know me that well, I tend to be somewhat graphic in my tales. So if you don't want to know what happened between my butt cheeks this morning. Look away; please, please, look away.
Now, I assume most of you know about the wonderful, mystical world of Groupon. A flying unicorn that farted glitter couldn't get me more excited than when my email bings with an out of this world good deal on Groupon. So, a few weeks ago when a laser hair removal coupon-Groupon was posted, I immediately jumped on that smooth deal. Mind you, I could have selected any menacing section of hair to remove but I chose to "de-hair" my private lady parts.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Although I thought I was intricately prepared for my 9:30 a.m. appointment for my first out of six sessions, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I was told 45 minutes before I came into the appointment to apply a numbing cream that I bought at the consultation. Fervently, I applied the cream, getting every nook, cranny and crevice completely covered. Then I washed my hands. Apparently not good enough. Within 15 minutes my lady parts, three fingers, my right eyelid, half my tongue, my bottom lip and an ear lobe were completely numb. But, being the optimist that I am, I looked at this as a positive. I figured with the cream's potency I wouldn't be feeling a thing from the laser treatment.
Now, if you remember a blog post of mine from a few years back, this ain't my first rodeo with hair removal in a "delicate" place. I have had many moments in the back room of a nail salon, being tortured by a lady named Ping. That was painful, but I had gotten out alive. Surely, this wouldn't be any worse.
The place were I was getting the laser treatment done was at a medical "spa". Medical Spas are almost as common in Dallas as a Starbucks. There is one on every corner. The mass amount of money women will spend in Dallas to be brought close to the brink of death for beauty is insane. Sure, peel 10 layers of skin of my face, just make sure the room smells of lavender and I get a foot rub at the end.
Yes, the spa setting is very deceiving. Walking into a beautiful room, with fresh flowers and calming music makes you believe your their for a Swedish massage. The cushy bed was far from a examination table and the cucumber water added a nice touch.
Perhaps it was the esthestican advising me to let her know if my pain got above an eight that got me realizing this wasn't going to be a walk in the park.
"An eight?!?!" I thought to myself. I cry for 20 minutes and ask for a bag of ice if my pain scale hits a 4. But, "an eight??!" I needed some liquid courage, but there wasn't a margarita in sight. I was going to have to be on my own on this one.
One. Two. Three.
Explicitive. Explicitive. Explicitive.
After the first zap, you could have stuck a fork in me. I was done. My common sense finally kicked in and I was thinking, was the heck am I doing? Why in the world would I subject myself to such pain? No scratch that, why in the world would I PAY to be in such pain? It felt as if Chuck Norris had shot laser beams out of his eyes and onto my....you know. The tech had to coax me into staying on the table, assuring me I would get use to the zap and that it wouldn't take much longer.
30 zaps later and 5 minutes in a position where I had to be on all fours; I was finally done.
After the treatment, I looked as if I had run 10 miles, in 100 degree weather through a hurricane. I was drenched in sweat and yes, I was crying although I blamed in on allergies.
One treatment down. Five more to go.
Ouch, ouch, ouch.