A few months ago I bought a cheap Groupon voucher for a leg and bikini wax. I would redeem it before the holiday which I would inevitably go on, I thought. There won’t be a holiday before it expires – a holiday is hard to justify when one is on statutory sick pay – and so I found myself on a Wednesday afternoon in somebody’s living room in a jumper, pants and nothing else.
We did the bikini wax first. I am not going to go into too many details but suffice to say if I had a gun I might have shot her at one point, Internet. That pain! I stared at the artex ceiling and counted backwards from 100. I had brief concerns about hygiene as I looked at the birthday cards on her mantelpiece, but consoled myself that at least there was a proper medical bed with blue paper over it.
“Bikini’s done!” the woman said, dipping the spatula back into the hot wax and gesturing at my leg. She spread it over my leg and I braced myself for the burning pain to begin again. I imagined how smooth my legs would be and how I wouldn’t have to shave for ages.
She finished my legs and I thought she was done. But then she said something awful. Something I will never forget. She said – cheerfully – a damning sentence.
“And would you like me to do your toes?”