My Husband and I Had a DIY Full-Body Waxing Date
The goal was to wax each other's everythings, both the obvious places and the most sensitive. It was a date night of convenience. Sure, it wasn't the most romantic, at least in a traditional understanding of the word. But it was more than that; it was time together, trying something new.
It was my husband's idea: order a home waxing kit, pack a cooler full of beer and spend the night together removing one unwanted patch of hair at a time—in the bathroom (every girl's dream date location). With seven years of marriage under our belts, we've got plenty of existing trust. We're beyond hiding bodily functions or pretending a patch of hair is new. We've been there, done that. Instead, we were there to help each other through it and get it gone.
Plus, there's an important fact to bear in mind: We're both hairy, like, really hairy. I'm even hairier than him. With a combination of Italian and Native American heritage, I can grow some damn hair. It's coarse and pops up thick, almost instantly. I've donated feet of hair to Locks of Love, a charity that helps children who experience hair loss. Chopping it off seems to spur its growth even more furiously. But my husband is no slouch when it comes to growing hair. He can sport a thick beard within a few days' time. His nether regions are disproportionately thick, as well. Our monthly razor budget is substantial.
We could continue to deal with these growths one shower at a time on our own, to be sure. Or we could nix them for weeks at a time, together. We chose the latter.
A night in: DIY waxing
A night out on the town be damned, we booked overnight sitters (Grammy and Papa) so we could enjoy our DIY grooming at home.
First, we had to let things grow for about two weeks, depending on the area. My legs required only about a week, but the duration was based more on comfort and required length. The ideal waxing length for hair is about one-fourth of an inch; longer than that and it's painful. Besides, as I said, it grows fast.
We started the date with a shower. We each grabbed a beer and exfoliated thoroughly with a thick salt scrub to help remove dead skin and eliminate ingrown hairs. Drying time was met with dancing, giggling and nervousness all around, not because of each other, but instead, the forthcoming pain. I checked the wax's temperature, noting it had melted even quicker than the instructions stated. I blamed the excess steam.
Hubs volunteered to go first, starting with his hind end. "Go big or go home," he said. I encouraged him that it would hurt less than his groin area, and got started.
Just like the YouTube video had taught me, I spread the wax smooth, creating a tab at the edge to pull. I held the skin taut and ripped the wax off quickly. He yelped loudly before breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
"How was it?" I asked. Not bad, he thought. We repeated this several times over, clearing his tail side and even going in deep between the cheeks. He studied the strips as they were pulled. One by one, they filled the trash can until he went to get a larger bag.
Switching jobs: My turn under the wax
I was next, starting with my legs. I've been waxed in many places before, but always by a stranger. I was worried he wouldn't be gentle, or that it wouldn't work and we'd have to do sections again.
He was surprisingly gentle and thorough—and all too excited to rip hair from my body—and then he yanked. I bit my lip and cursed, holding my breath until the sting subsided. Over and over again, across the entirety of my legs, he ripped and ripped, even daring me to pull a few myself. (I wouldn't.)
We took breaks, sipping slowly; I knew if I got too silly, the entire experiment would be over and I'd make him stop waxing and start on a full-fledged dance party.
Next, he did the nape of my neck, which wasn't bad. The arms weren't terrible, either. Against my better judgment, we saved our groin sections, the most painful area of all, for last. This was what I was most concerned about, too. Hubs made several untrusting comments about my ability to hold hot wax near his favorite body part.
We had studied various YouTube videos, checking out the intricacies of waxing delicate parts: looking at hair growth direction, trimming when necessary, and so on. Piece by piece, we pulled coarse, unflattering follicles from each other's bodies. As soon as we ripped, we'd press a hand to the affected skin, attempting to shield the sting.
It. Freaking. Hurt.
We contemplated what could have made it better. Ice packs? Aloe? Whiskey shots? A biting rope? Ultimately, we were forcefully pulling wax pieces from our bodies, violently removing hundreds of small hairs from beneath our skin. We wanted them gone. No matter what, it was going to cause pain, and cause pain it did.
A night to remember
By the end of the night, we were mentally drained and physically sore. My face hurt from laughing, and my mouth was dry from cackling over my own stupid jokes and hubs' hilarious ones. Let me tell you, though, the waxing job is nothing to mess around with. (Though the videos tell us it gets easier over time, I'm not 100 percent sure that's true.)
But it was a blast! A night with my best friend, my companion, where there was no judgment, no shame about our bodies. We weren't even embarrassed by the extra hair that no one likes. Instead, it bonded us closer. It was likely the most unique date we've had yet.
Best of all, we accomplished something: alone time, progress made, and a night of laughing we'll remember for decades.
