The things we do for vanity.

So you recall my earlier post about laser hair removal? And how I was all, "Oh, it's nothing! Totally easy! Pain free! I could do it while eating grapes and being fanned by John Stamos!" Yeah. I take it all back.

Stop reading now if you don't want to know about body hair. Specifically, mine. I warned you.

I recently decided to go all Chelsea Handler on my body and basically remove it all. You've already read about my first bikini appointment, and I started the underarm area the other day. Since my appointment this time was during my lunch hour, I couldn't appropriately self-medicate myself as I did in my first.

HOLY HELL IT HURT LIKE A MOTHERTRUCKER.

I've experienced the joy of a bikini wax no less than 40 times in my life (about 4 times a year since I was 18). I've also had a baby sliced from my uterus, and prior to that lived through nearly 24 hours of labor. You would think that both of these fine examples, plus the countless times I've done stupid things like running into walls or accidentally stabbing myself with Wustof kitchen knives would have prepared me for a silly little laser beam Star Wars-ing its way into my armpit.

I assure you, this is not the case.

I honestly don't know how I will make it through five more sessions on the pits, and four more on the bikini. Well, yes, I do. I won't be scheduling any more during my lunch hour, that's for damn sure. I will also add tequila to my rotation and possibly convince my doctor to prescribe Xanax. Momma needs.


Anyway, I have no idea where I was going with this post, other than to appropriately warn you that it friggin' hurts. And also? Self-medication is the way to go.