Wax on

As I lay on the beautician’s table, a middle-aged Greek woman applied hot wax to my legs and patted on cloth strips. Each time she tore away a strip, she grunted and licked her lips. Together, we worked in silence – her inflicting; me enduring. When she got to my bikini line, however, she straightened and made an announcement:

“There’s two things in life I never done.”

I’ve always been intrigued by people, places and products that define themselves by what they are not, rather than what they are. Surely it’s quicker if we just cut to the chase?

“Small-talk,” I guessed.

“No,” she replied, “I never had a nose bleed and I never threw up.”

“I’ve never had a nose bleed either,” I sympathised, “But I’ve thrown up a lot.”

“I never threw up,” she repeated.

“That’s ridiculous, everybody throws up.”

“I never did.”

“But you must have,” I pressed, “When you were a baby. Babies throw up all the time.”

“I never threw up. You should get laser, save us both this shit,” she advised, nodding towards my crotch.

I did.