I've shared before the horror that was bikini area laser hair removal treatments
and as a result, swore that I would never again subject myself to something like that. My principles go as far as my pocketbook, however, and I changed my stance when Groupon recently offered 90% off hair removal. My husband saw this deal and forwarded it to me with the following message:
"You should get your pits done. I say this with all my love...."
Pardon me while I swoon.
He was right, though. I had talked about getting laser hair removal so I could eliminate the torturous and time-consuming chore that is shaving my armpits. I'm now about two Groupon deals away from becoming completely
useless. I bought the deal, figuring that arm pit laser treatments would be nothing compared to the humiliation and pain of the bikini area.
Spoiler alert: I'm a moron.
This morning was my first treatment. There was no numbing cream (or Saran Wrap undergarments) required for this area (I specifically asked) and I only had to take my shirt off, so I was already feeling way less vulnerable than I had for the bikini area. Until the technician started the procedure and it was all I could do to not jump off the table and slap her in the face. I said, "Wow. That really hurts!" (I delivered this with as much authority as I could, while wearing bright yellow tanning salon goggles to protect my eyes from the laser.)
|Lady Gaga cannot relate.|
She asked, "Is it the feeling of being poked by needles that bothers you?" and I replied, "Honestly, over the searing heat that feels like Lucifer himself is shoving a branding iron in my arm pit, I cannot even feel any needles."
I begged for a numbing cream prescription as she continued with the treatment. Then, as we were almost done, something happened that obviously startled her. I asked what was wrong and the rest of the exchange went as follows:
(Somewhat confusedly): "There is a window washer just outside the window."
(Calmly): "Surely you have some sort of film on the windows so he can't see in, as this is a medical office."
(Matter of factly): "No."
(Helpfully) : "Well, can you just lower the blinds?"
(Matter of factly): "They are broken and don't go down all the way."
(Resignedly): "How about I just hide over here in the corner as I put my shirt on?"
And once again, I find myself facing five more of these treatments over the next year.
Thank you, sir, may I have another?