The Day Before

So this time tomorrow, i’ll be throwing the last items in my suitcase, leaving my cats plenty of food and water, and trying to decide what shoes to wear.  Cute shoes or boots are essential, i think, but it could be a long walk through the airport…  decisions, decisions, decisions.  i shopped for some new ones last night, but didn’t find anything.

And then, as i was trying on this adorable pair

Like this, only i think they might have come up a little higher

even though i knew they wouldn’t work, I looked at my cell phone to check the time and realized i was running late for an important appointment.

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Warning:  i’m about to go into details of personal grooming.  If you don’t want to read it skip down to the next asteriks.

True confessions – i hate to shave.  Hate to.  With a passion.  i don’t shave my legs – haven’t for years.  i epilady.

“What’s that?” you ask.

The epilady is a diabolical little device that rips the hair out by the roots.

Yes, it hurts like hell when you first start using it.  The only reason i started was because my husband had bought it as a gift and i didn’t want it to go to waste.  And at first, it took forever to do and was pretty painful – not in a good way.

But after the first few times, it doesn’t hurt so much, and you don’t have to do it more than once every couple of weeks, and the hair grows back soft instead of stubbly, and less and less grows back all the time.  So i’ve been doing that for so long it only takes about 5 minutes to do and doesn’t hurt at all.

i have not always shaved my pussy.   That wasn’t – i don’t know – let me ask youall – did women do that much back in the day?  Back when i was young – 30 or 40 years ago – i don’t think they did.  If they did, it was another one of those girly secrets that i wasn’t in on. 

i mean – i shaved enough that hair didn’t show with a bathing suit.  And i’d done it completely a few times over the years to add a little excitement to things.  But my first husband wasn’t into it enough to make it worthwhile.

{i warned you this would be TMI, didn’t i?}

Anyhow, so it’s only within the last 6 years or so that i’ve done it halfway regularly.  And MM, my first domly type, and B, my dom husband, both did it for me. 

B particularly would make an elaborate ritual of the process, involving hot washcloths, and me laying on a blanket in front of the fireplace in the winter, which was fairly exciting all by itself. 

But then i got divorced, and there i was.  On my own that way too.

Sigh.

So i shaved, when there was occasion to.  And didn’t do it very well, i’m sure, because i hate to do it. 

Finally, in desparation, i decided to try getting waxed instead.   i thought about using the waxing stuff you buy yourself, but i’d tried that on my legs before and i was terrible at it.

So i let my fingers do the walking, and ended up in a beauty salon in a fancy shopping mall with a little dark-haired woman who promised a 15-minute Brazilian wax.  

Yikes.

i’ll skip the most intimate details – let me just say, the first one was a little bit over 15 minutes, and yes, when she rips that wax off, it hurts like hell.  But it was bearable.   The second and third times hurt much less. 

It’s not a perfect solution because it doesn’t really last long enough inbetween, but it works if you’re not seeing someone all the time anyhow, and it lasts perfectly for a couple of weeks.

So i was pretty content with that solution, even though it was an additional expense.  But – the woman i was going to talked the entire time she was working on me.  Which would have been ok, but almost every thing she said grated on my nerves.  She shared her political views, her opinions on tattoos, and warned me about urban legends with all the intensity of a prophet.

i couldn’t take it.  i didn’t want to argue with her, right?  She’s working on this sensitive part of my body; i don’t want to annoy her.  i tried going away in my head, but really, that just made me lock in to the ripping sensation she was creating.  It was just annoying.  

So i decided to try someone else this time.  Made the appointment.  Got off work – went shopping – start to try on shoes – realize i’m running late and race over to the salon. 

So – ‘Nilla, this might be a scenario for you, athough not the one i was thinking about telling you yesterday.  

i get to the little neighborhood mall where the salon is.  It’s mostly dark – the stores and offices i can see are almost all closed, except for a restaurant that’s doing a nice business.  i have to go around back to find the entrance to the mall part of the building – if “mall” isn’t an exaggeration.

So it’s just a little strange.

The salon is the only thing open in that part of the building, the lights are even dim in the hallway.  There’s a young woman, all by herself, on the phone.  She tells me she’ll be right with me, and continues to describe a payment plan for electrolysis – or something – to whoever’s on the phone.

But soon she’s with me.  We are alone in the office.  She tells me to take off my pants, lie on the table, and cover myself with the towel.  

She leaves the room for the 30 seconds it takes me to do that.  When she comes back, she says, “Now, you know, we’re not doing wax – we’re doing sugar.”

Huh?

She goes on to explain – wax has harsh chemicals, this sugar process is natural, leaves your skin softer and healthier, blah, blah, blah.  But at this point, i definitely thought of you, ‘Nilla, and wondered what would happen next if this were a ‘Nilla story…

Fortunately for me, it wasn’t a ‘Nilla story, so no men came in to take advantage of my helplessness on the table and she didn’t choloform me and have me sold at auction or anything.  {laughing}

She did, however, torture me with this combination of sugar, lemon, and water, which supposedly rips the hair out by the roots – at least, she said it does, and it sure felt like it.   She says it’ll be easier next time…  i would hope so.

And she didn’t make toxic conversation, so that was worth a lot.  And i’m – you know – waxed and ready to go.  {laughing}

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Ok, the grooming part of the story is over, thank you for your patience…

Since some of the comments yesterday reminded me to stay safe, i wanted to assure everyone again that i have safety precautions in place.  i have an elaborate system of safe calls that i use with my family, which i won’t describe here because that would kind of defeat the purpose.  And i know someone who lives in the area who would rescue me if i needed rescuing.

 i feel safe with BR.     He’s been sensitive to what i need as we talk or IM, and for a lot of reasons, i feel good about this.

AND i’m not so locked into thinking it’s safe that i won’t pay attention.  i will pay attention, and will do whatever i need to do to be safe.  So i reallly appreciate the concern – and can say “don’t worry about me too much.”

You know, there’s a blog post a young woman wrote called Schrodinger’s Rapist.  Addressed to men, it lays out the harsh reality that for women, every man is potentially a rapist.  She highlights the ways that men can reduce our risk – and ways that they – and we – ignore the fact that we are so much at risk. 

It’s an intense piece, and funny too – if you want to read it, let me know, i’ve got it as a word document and would be glad to send it.    In fact – here’s the first part of it: 

Guest Blogger Starling: Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced

by Sweet Machine

Phaedra Starling is the pen name of a romance novelist and licensed private investigator living in small New York City apartment with two large dogs.  She practices Brazilian jiu-jitsu and makes world-class apricot muffins.

“Gentlemen. Thank you for reading.

Let me start out by assuring you that I understand you are a good sort of person. You are kind to children and animals. You respect the elderly. You donate to charity. You tell jokes without laughing at your own punchlines. You respect women. You like women. In fact, you would really like to have a mutually respectful and loving sexual relationship with a woman. Unfortunately, you don’t yet know that woman—she isn’t working with you, nor have you been introduced through mutual friends or drawn to the same activities. So you must look further afield to encounter her.

So far, so good. Miss LonelyHearts, your humble instructor, approves. Human connection, love, romance: there is nothing wrong with these yearnings.

Now, you want to become acquainted with a woman you see in public. The first thing you need to understand is that women are dealing with a set of challenges and concerns that are strange to you, a man. To begin with, we would rather not be killed or otherwise violently assaulted.

“But wait! I don’t want that, either!”

Well, no. But do you think about it all the time? Is preventing violent assault or murder part of your daily routine, rather than merely something you do when you venture into war zones? Because, for women, it is. When I go on a date, I always leave the man’s full name and contact information written next to my computer monitor. This is so the cops can find my body if I go missing. My best friend will call or e-mail me the next morning, and I must answer that call or e-mail before noon-ish, or she begins to worry. If she doesn’t hear from me by three or so, she’ll call the police. My activities after dark are curtailed. Unless I am in a densely-occupied, well-lit space, I won’t go out alone. Even then, I prefer to have a friend or two, or my dogs, with me. Do you follow rules like these?”

She goes on from there…  and i share it here only because i want to assure youall that i’m as aware of the risks as anyone.  Super aware.   i work with people who have  had really bad things happen to them.   

So enough of that for now – on to exercise and shower and so on and on – til tomorrow…