Waks gets Waxed - A horror story

It had been some number of weeks since I had arrived in Macau. I noticed that in the frenzied period leading up to my flight I had managed to neglect the maintenance of my ever sacred leg hair. Being a soft-core feminist this would not usually phase me. But, seeing as the temperature ranges from "Hot" to "Hotter" to "Humid & Hot" to "I can't even sit in my non-airconditioned bathroom without breaking out in a heavy sweat" and the fact that my new co-workers and friends might not be comfortable with me as evolution made me, I decided it would not be in my best interests to deprive myself of the opportunity to wear short-shorts, skirts, and dresses on every possible occasion on-and-off the stage. There was only one solution.

Get a leg wax.

Armed with an hour and a half before I was due to start work I determined to venture through the foreign streets of Taipa in search of a beautician who could assist me in my task. I plodded along with my furry friends - left, right, left, right - and unsuccesfully tried at least 3 places that only offered laser removal. I was not particularly in the mood for being repeatedly zapped in my follicles and was nearing a point of desperation when I happened upon a quaint beauty salon next to a San Miu (chain) supermarket. "This looks professional", I thought, and so I walked up to the counter and asked if they did leg waxes. After several attempts at trying to communicate to them the act of ripping off my leg hair they seemed to understand my request. After several further moments spent deliberating among themselves with doubtful looks on their faces they started nodding their heads enthusiastically and beckoned me into one of their rooms. I lay upon the massage table looking calmly up at the ceiling which had fake green leaves thoughtfully placed across it. There was music playing softly in the background which, thanks to my discerning musical ear, I recognised to be Enya.

Looking back, the warning signs were all there...

The sweet Chinese beautician entered the room armed with what looked like a jar of honey. "Mmmm honey.." I thought. It wasn't until she unscrewed the lid and started dipping the wax applicator in the jar that anything seemed amiss.

(Before I continue, for anyone who does not have previous leg wax experience/knowledge a leg wax procedure usually requires some basic things.

Ingredients for Successful Leg Wax:

- Hot wax
- Strips of material to apply to hot wax

Hot wax is applied to a specific hairea and then a strip is applied on top and consequently ripped off, removing said hair. It is all rather simple and when done by a professional person, a full leg and bikini wax need take no more time than 30-45minutes.)

So there I was, watching with a sense of bemusement mixed with anxiety as my sweet waxer struggled to dig the cold wax out of the jar with her applicator (which I could now see was a butter knife). My instincts screamed "RUN" but my politeness and whorish commitment to seeing through any experience in the hope of a story kept me there.

After successfully retrieving enough cold wax for one leg application she proceeded to spend the next 5 minutes inspecting my legs, presumably looking for hair. I tried to point out that it was everywhere but the language barrier meant my words fell like a tree in a Confuscist forest. Eventually she selected an appropriate area of leg and proceeded to spend an additional 5 minutes delicately basting a rectangular area no bigger than a matchbox. With the wax being cold this action alone was both painful for me, and arduous for her. I tried to tell her that with her upper body strength she should think about a career in gondoliering but once again my recommendations fell on deaf ears. After being submitted to several gruelling sessions of this unique brand of beauty therapy my patience was starting to waver. I realised if I let her continue, not only might I lose the feeling in both my legs, but I may also be late to work. Being a consummate professional this was not an option. So I made it very clear I had to leave in a matter of minutes. It had been a full hour and when I looked down all I could see was from the knees onwards, patches of hair and baldness. Sensing my disappointment, the "beautician" made one last effort to satisfy her customer by evening out the patchiness on my right leg. Being out of strips she resorted to using a sheet of A4 paper, which in retrospect is probably what all the strips were.

My anger was palpable but there was nothing to be done. So I paid my money and satisfied myself with not saying thank you as I exited the place.




THE END