So you have a hot date. Or a holiday. And you resolve to abandon the time-deprived, desultory Veet, bathroom floor procedure that has passed for depilation for the last however long, and you book that Brazilian. As much for yourself as for anyone else. Off you go and – after a slightly oof-y half hour – out you emerge all marvellous. Can people tell as you walk down the street with a little post-wax sashay? Part sting, part satisfaction.
So let’s imagine the hot date happens. And you might decide to go in guns blazing and take what you want or you might decide to wait. “Let’s just wait…” We do not judge. That is the point of us. But, hang on, the next hot date is ten days away by which time the wax is all lumpy and bumpy and itchy and ragged but not yet ready for a re-wax no matter how much you exfoliate. The same, by the way (just to de-perv for a mo), is true of a two-week holiday. Day one = immaculate. Day 13 = slightly grizzled = sarong time.
Maybe you’ve lasered. Maybe you have had neither the money nor the time nor the focus for that commitment. But if you still have body hair then you are at the mercy of wax maths; an ever-shifting equation where X = you tell me.
Why does the hot stuff (weather and sex) always have to happen when things are… awry? Why do calculations never seem to come right? Why does it never go… smoothly…