Not Waxing Poetic

leg waxing





Author’s Note

I wrote this story a number of years ago, as an exercise of sorts, to train me to get into my character’s heads, so to speak. I’ve written some poems from an animal’s perspective, for example, but never fiction. I picked woman, because I thought it would be challenging. It was because I picked personal waxing, and I’ve had no experience with any women in my life that had gone through such torture. I even pulled on hair, to see what it might be like, and women must be insane to be doing this for us.

This story was stolen from me. It was copied from wherever it was on the internet, and it has been shared countless times, and as a result, any income I could have made from this piece of work has been taken away from me. Some magazines would pay fifty to one hundred dollars to publish a popular piece. All that is gone, so now I will post my work entitled Not Waxing Poetic for everyone to enjoy for free. And I dare somebody to say this is not my story.


Lockie Young







All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal – the Epilady®, scissors, razors, Nair® and now…the wax.
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet. So I headed to the site of my demise, the bathroom.
It was one of those ‘cold wax’ kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I’m not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (Ya think?!)
I remembered buying this kit several months (years?) ago on sale in a discount bin in a store I couldn’t remember. I pull one of the thin strips out. It is two strips actually, facing each other and stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees.
Cold Wax, yeah, right! I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works.
Ok, so it wasn’t the best feeling, but it wasn’t too bad. I can do this. Hair removal no longer eludes me. I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my hoo-ha and stretching down the inside of my butt cheek (it was a long strip). I inhale deeply and brace myself. RRRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP!
I’m blind! Blinded from pain! OH MY GAWD!
Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP! Another deep breath and RIPP! Everything is spinning and spotted. I think I may pass out. I repeat to myself ‘I must stay conscious… I must stay conscious.’
Do I hear crashing drums? I breathe deep then breathe deep again. OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy – a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip. There’s no hair on it. Where is the hair? Where is the wax?
Shyly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip is not on the strip. I touch down there and I am touching hairy wax.
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next big mistake. Remember my foot is still propped upon the toilet? I know I need to do something, so I put my foot down.
Sealed shut…my butt is sealed shut! As I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do next I think to myself ‘Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop right off!’ What can I do to melt the wax?
Hot water! Hot water melts wax. I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right? Wrong!

I get in the tub and the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub, in scalding hot water. I soon discover that hot water doesn’t melt the Cold Wax. So, now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cemented myself to the porcelain. God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom.
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and, maybe, just maybe she has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter. I start timidly with, “So, my butt and hoo-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub.”
There is a slight pause. She doesn’t know any secret tricks for waxed nether region removal from the bottom of the tub, but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located and she asks “Are we talking cheeks or hole or hoo-ha?”
She’s laughing out loud by now. I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
Yeah right. I should be the joke of someone else’s night?
While we go through the various solutions, I drain the tub.  I resort to trying to scrape the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than having your girlie goodies covered in hot (cold) wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!
By now my brain is not working. Dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling after this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace. The lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and…Oh my Gawd!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend. It is so painful, but I really don’t care. “It works! It works!” I screamed at my friend.
I get hearty congratulations from her and she hangs up. I envision her laughing her butt off as I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair, the hair is still there…all of it!
So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I’m numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I’m going to try hair color.


7 thoughts on “Not Waxing Poetic

    • Thanks Maizie. On some of the discussion boards where I found this story some 15 years later, I was surprised at how many people thought I was a woman. Mission accomplished.

  1. Lockie! It’s been a long time since I had heard how you were doing so I checked on you on Facebook. Wow, so much more water under the bridge since I contributed recipes to the cookbook you assembled a few years ago! As I was looking at your page I saw this post about waxing. I have read this several times in the past 7 or 8 years and laugh out loud every single time. I had no idea, of course, that you had written it. I feel badly that I unwittingly contributed to its going viral without the name of the author attached. How I wish I had known!
    Chin up, b’y! Thinking of you!

      • Hello, Lockie….I just got this in my social mail. Are you writing new in this sight or what is tis about. you share that story with me months ago. And Yes, the humor is everlasting.

        Best, Eleanor

        On Sun, Nov 6, 2016 at 6:43 AM, Lockie’s Lectern wrote:

        > Lockie Young commented: “No worries, Cathi. It’s one of those live and > learn things. Glad to see you connect with me again.” >

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