Waxing Lyrical

Note 1 - Swearing Mother, I haven't gone yet, I go tomorrow. I apologise if I led you on with a soap opera type preview. I am also sorry that sometimes my life has come to resemble a soap opera. Neither of which are your fault, my love.

Note 2 - if there are gentlemen reading this blog, you may wish to avert your eyes now. It could get rough. If you believe your wife, girlfriend, lover etc to be a woman of fragrance and mystery, I am no one to disabuse you of the notion. Don't read this blog, try a Mills & Boon website instead.

I have worked for the same company now for 16 years. I have learned a lot whilst I have been in their employment. I have learned how to manipulate a spreadsheet, how to extract data from a report, how to create a graph or a bar chart on the PC. I have learned how to conduct performance appraisals, how to manage under performance and how to hold an effective interview. I have learned that my least productive time is a Friday afternoon, that my laugh can be heard at the opposite end of the office (and it's a BIG office), and just this week I have learned and seen with my own eyes that a member of my team has a pierced nipple. The greatest and most important gift that I have learned, however, is that it is important always to be prepared. Preparation, preparation, preparation. This of course is not something that applies just in the office. This is known as a transferable, or transportable, skill. This means that you can take it home with you and use it there. And I have.

I have been preparing for this weekend. I have been to the beauty salon. For a wax.

Down there.

It is the first time I have been for this sort of extravaganza. But I thought the time had come. I was a little nervous, not being experienced in the ways of beauty salons. The girl was lovely, took me into a little cubicle, and told me to undress, just leaving my top half on. This seems relatively normal, I thought. Considering why I am here. She had told me to lie on a little bed, covered in what resembled a long paper towel. It may indeed have been a long paper towel. I did what I was told. She came back in, asked me what I wanted. It is a little like going to the hairdressers.

Except I didn't take a picture with me.

We discussed and agreed. She appeared to mix potions. I closed my eyes. They shot open a moment later, at the same time as this thought ripped through my mind.

'It feels like she is pouring hot wax onto me!!!!!!!!'

Oh. She is.

The next thought followed a split second later.

'Holy Mary, mother of God, preserve me from this agony!!!!!' There is no response. I am not surprised. She is a mother, and of God. She has no time spare to be helping me out, the woman must be rushed off her feet. I try a different approach.

'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I have never been to confession, on the grounds that I am not a Catholic. I can do you a recap of my sins, but I'll be honest, it could take some time, and I'm looking for quite a speedy response here.' Again, nothing.

In the meantime, the charming girl is ripping wax, skin, veins and arteries from me with abandon. I expect to look down and see bare skeleton. She asks if this is the first time I have been. I nod my head. She tells me I have done very well, there was a woman in that morning who screamed. I have not screamed. Mainly because my teeth are clenched so tightly, not even a crowbar could prise them open.

She finishes off after some hours, and a brief discussion about symmetry. It is, frankly, a discussion I never expected to have.

I crawl, weeping, to the train station and glance at the clock to see how many hours I have been in this torture chamber.

15 minutes.

Ye gods.

See you on Tuesday, pray for me. Any god you like. They all know who I am, but they've been avoiding my calls.