Yes, I'm a Hypocrite, but Please Bear With Me...

y'all know that i like a men who are more...hirsute (read: ursine). there's something about a man who remains au naturale that i find sexy: a hairy chest, arms, legs, but and (yes, it's true) shoulders. that's not to say i don't see the appeal of those men born smooth, that can be sexy too (as long as he's not a 90 lb bean pole); i just frown on those who shave, wax or dipilitate their fur. ironically, Saturday got my back waxed.

see, yesterday, the hubby and i were invited to hang out with John on Fire Island. as you may or may not know, La Isla Del Fuego is New York's Gay Riviera and has been since time began (read: pre-Stonewall). There was no way i was gonna show up to an all gay beach and taking off my shirt without either hitting the salon or a bottle of Nair for Men 1st. Why? 'cause though i don't mind it on other men (and actually find it attractive), i don't like the way I look. isn't that too nutty? while i don't mind being a "cub", i have certain limitations and looking like i'm wearing a shrug is one of them.

i showed up at the salon John works at on Saturday and waited while Lana took care of the SI matron whose appointment preceded mine. When it was my turn, she ushered me into the confessional sized room and chatted idly about weekend plans and the summer, while prepping the wax. she asked me to take off my t-shirt, audibly gasped and then said in a thick polish accent, "this is gonna take a while". yup, comedy abounds. she then instructed me to lie down and "make myself comfortable" and finally asked if i'd ever had a waxing before. i confessed i was a newbie and she said it would "hurt a little". well kids, nothing could quite prepare me for the level of pain i experienced over the next 25? 30? minutes (all time seemed to stop while i was on that table, and i honestly have no idea how long it took). i had to keep reminding myself of two things a) i made this choice voluntarily and b) once she started, there was no way she couldn't see it through to the bitter end. at one point, i remarked to her that i was amazed women go through this so often and she just chuckled. when i left, i was sweating profusely and my skin stung like i'd been dragged along cement by a runaway horse. for the next 24 hours it was bright red and tender as a fresh bitch slap.

never again.

ironically, we wound up not going to La Isla Del Fuego. by sunday evening, i was in a state of high dread about the traffic we'd face the next day. going wouldn't be a big deal, but coming home would be a nightmare. we'd have to return at 3 in the afternoon in order to be home before 9. nuh-uh. a beach is a beach is a beach. instead, we had my parents, brother and his family over for a barbecue. being around my brother was slightly less painful than the back waxing.

i did get some fantastic color on Sunday, though, just by lying out on my anti-gravity lawn chair from last year. the yard isn't quite Fire Island, but the music was pumping, the Crystal Light flowed freely, all the snacks were Weight Watchers friendly, and the cabana boy doesn't mind when you pinch his cute little tush.