Journey to the heart of the jungle. (Part I)

Ladies and germy things,

C'est moi. Making a rare appearance to bring you funny stories and news-type stuff.

In me-news, I shall be departing to St. Louis on October 25 for a journalism conference. I am quite excited; it should be awesome.
Let me rephrase that: It damn well better be awesome for the near $650 I had to spend on airfare.
That doesn't even include hotel and food. Eep.

As if purchasing expensive plane tickets doesn't put enough of a dent in my bank account, I now have a tendency to shop when I am stressed (which is a lot). I am also being aided and abetted in this habit by my shiny new credit card with a $1000 limit...I have developed a taste for expensive things too. This isn't good.
I usually buy at least one item of clothing or expensive beauty product per weekend. That doesn't even include my coffee habit.
Some examples of my new expensive taste: Starbucks nearly every day, the many items of new clothing I have purchased (new blazer, $40; 2 new scarves $5 (such a good deal!); cute new hat, $20; stripey long-sleeved shirt, $22; kitchy earrings, $6...that's just what I rememberfrom the past two weeks. There is more. Much more.), an eyebrow wax from my favourite salon (yes, I have a favourite salon), $40 face cream set (it did do wonders for my skin though!), $30 cream to keep my brazilian wax looking pretty...oh yes, the $60 brazilian wax, did I not mention that? Funny story...

A little whil ago I was having "one of those days" so, at the suggestion of a friend, I scheduled myself a brazilian wax.
Now, many wouldn't think a single girl with slim to nil prospects would need a wax of this magnitude. But, as I have mentioned before to some people, I am convinced that someone in my ancestral gene-pool fucked a yeti, leaving me with some undesirable hair issues. Therefore, a brazilian wax was a very welcome prospect.

Needless to say, I was a little nervous and not looking forward to bearing it all to a complete stranger under non-alcohol induced circumstances, but it really wasn't so bad.
As a matter of fact, it ended up being the funniest thing that ever happened to me.

The girl doing the wax was very nice, and led me to a little room with relaxation music...and one of those lie-down tables you see in the doctor's office. Odd. At least there were no stirrups.
Then she tells me to take off my pants and underthings and gives me a towel-sarong thing which I had initially thought was to help maintain my dignity. I looked in the mirror. Nope. Definitely had nothing to do with dignity.

Then I was forced to walk in my towel-sarong from one room to an identical room across the way for some unknown reason. I think she was just bored and needed a laugh. Some lady getting a pedicure saw me. Whatever. I bet her feet are nasty.

So, I get into the new/exactly-the-same room and am told to lie down and remove the pointless towel-sarong (Seriously. I don't see why I couldn'y have just kept my pants on for the jaunt across the hall then just dropped trow when we got into the new room. But noooo.).

So, I get on the table and realize the room really is like a doctor's office. Little counter with a sink. Jars of stuff used to torture people. Little tray table of instruments by your little lie down bed. Only instead of a scapula or a tongue depressor, it was a jar of hot wax...and tongue depressors for applying the wax. Ok. They aren't tongue depressors, but they look like them. The girls know what I'm talking about.
(I think doctor's should really take note. The relaxation music was quite nice.)

Once on the table, I'm told to keep one leg straight and one leg bent, like my legs are making a number four (Keep in mind, I have nothing on below my waist at this point.). I'll give you a moment to picture this...and laugh your ass off, or be extremely uncomfortable. Up to you.

Then, it began.

On that note, I have to be off.

To be continued...