Late last year, I was vajazzled against my will.
I was on the home stretch to being hairless, when I felt the weirdest sensation and realised very quickly that Something. Was. Not. Right.
Late last year, I was vajazzled against my will.
I was at a beauty salon in my home town and I was booked in for a Brazilian wax. As usual I hadn’t requested a particular beautician. I’m not one of those who says “Oh I always go to so-and-so.” I quite enjoy the veil of anonymity that comes with a different person dropping hot wax on your lady parts every couple of months. I’d prefer not to be buddies with the person who gets that fun-fun job.
A quick and crucial bit of background before I continue with the story: I am not good with pain. In fact, I am a giant wuss bag. I don’t like blood, I don’t like needles, and I cry liberally and tell everyone around me when something hurts.
So when I’m having a wax, I try and pretend I’m somewhere else. I go into the ‘happy place’ (sometimes a vaguely inebriated place), I close my eyes and let the beautician do all the talking. I don’t concentrate on what’s happening. I don’t pay attention in the slightest.
On this one particular occasion — I was on the home stretch to being hairless, when I felt the weirdest sensation and realised very quickly that Something. Was. Not. Right.
I sat up abruptly and to my horror saw this woman using this tiny tube of glue to affix these sparkly diamante things to my lady parts…
“Ah, WhatTheF*#kDoYouThinkYou’reDoing?”
Even if vajazzling doesn’t float your boat, you can’t deny there are some rather ‘creative’ applications of diamantes happening out there...
“Oh didn’t we tell you?” exclaims 19-year-old super perky and excited beautician lady. “This month we’re doing a FREE vajazzling for all our regular customers!”
I was vajazzled against my will.
“I don’t want vajazzling, thanks. I’m quite happy living a vajazzle-less life. Please take, um, just take that off. Now,” I said (trying to remain calm in the face of my newly-sparkly vagina).
“Oh no, don’t worry! It’s totally FREE!” she responds. As if somehow that makes this okay.
“Yes. But I don’t care that it’s free. I don’t want it,” I confirmed.
“We can switch shapes you know? If you don’t like the love heart, we could try a butterfly instead?”
Seriously. Do I look like the kind of woman who wants a butterfly down there? A butterfly?
To cut a painfully long discussion short, she ended up removing the offending sparkly things. Not before suggesting a myriad of little sparkly pictures (including the word SEXY) as alternatives for me.
I do not tell a lie. This actually happened. I am still in recovery.
Dear readers — help me to realise that I did not go through this horrific experience alone. Surely, there are others?
This story originally appeared on The Glow. Take a look at other related articles on The Glow or follow us on Twitter or Facebook.
Related:
The Great Silky Mit Disaster of 2014
