…For the girls to go!
If you don’t know who the “girls” are you can…whatever. Boobs. I’m talking about boobs. By the time you read this, I will be in a deep sleep, undergoing a prophylactic bilateral under the muscle direct to implant mastectomy (say that five times fast).
I have a few fears going into this surgery.
Two) pain and/or nausea. But mostly nausea.
Three) not being able to shave for weeks.
I mean, come one, I’m already getting my boobs chopped off, I don’t want to look like a hairy man too.
So while the first two fears require faith, the third requires wax.
If I shaved, I’d be a hairy man by midnight.
If I waxed, then I wouldn’t be a hairy man until…gee…I don’t know…Thursday?
Now, I could have called my local wax center and made an appointment. That would make sense. However, often times (fine, most of the time) I forget to engage my brain and I make silly decisions.
I mean, why hire someone else to give me a wax when I could do it myself?
Cleary, this was a good idea.
So I got to waxing. Legs. Pits. Face. Arms…it was all going pretty well until…well, until I got down there.
Holy crap, have you ever waxed your own lady bits?
So I’m going into surgery full of faith, a bit of anxiety, and half a bikini wax.
See you soon!
The first two books in The Cambria Clyne Mystery Series are available now!