19 Stages of Enduring the Annual Bikini Wax

However you feel about your downstairs hair during the colder months, come summer it's usually necessary to spruce up the Front Office a touch before launching yourself at the nearest sun lounger. By far the most brutal and genuinely-bloody-painful of all the available methods, the Brazilian bikini wax is also the gold standard in pube annihilation, should that be what floats your boat. Here's what it's like to get one, in 19 helpful stages. Determination: Brazilian appointment made. No shaving allowed. Not even that bit. Or there. No manicuring 'til Friday. Angst: It's Wax Day! Here come the cold feet. Hey, I could skip this, right? And spend €40 on wine? Or lip loss or scratch cards? I could buy a swimsuit with built-in shorts. The bush is back, right? Regret: They're calling my name, I could pretend it's not me. Dammit they're looking this way. They know. Off we trot to the treatment room of doom. Apologies: I confess it's been 22 weeks since my last appointment. Yes I know monthly waxes are recommended. I'm genuinely sorry I let things slide between us. It's not you, it's me. Yes of course I will lie nude from the waist down on your little table but just so you know, I am leaving my socks on. Mortification: Is there a position more embarrassing and cringe-inducingly vulnerable than open lotus, sans knickers? Pity: Look at this therapist. Poor her, hacking away at unkempt lady gardens all day. She must regret all her life choices. Suspicion: Nope, she looks remarkably chipper. Ecstatic, almost. That's because she bloody loves ripping hair from the vulvas of the unsuspecting public from nine to five, the Shellac-ed little masochist. Bewilderment: God it's bright in here. Why is it so bright? Panic: Aaaaand on goes the wax. Let's chat about our holidays. Christ that's hot. And the weather, so humid! That's definitely getting hotter. Keep smiling. Is that too hot? What does a third degree burn feel like? Has anyone had third degree vagina burn? Is this it? IS MY VAGINA ON FIRE????? Self-reproach: She's right, you know. This is all my fault for shaving. Regular waxing makes for easier waxing. Why don't I come back and do this every month like a proper organised lady? What's the matter with me? Why don't I ever get my shit together? Am I even a real woman? Resolve: F*CK that stung. I'm never doing this again. Acceptance: Oh but there's more! We can't stop now. Is there really hairs there? Worry: Does waxing my Notorious V.A.G. make me a bad feminist? Does Germaine Greer think I'm silly? Does Gloria Steinem wax? Does Hillary Hollywood her hoo-ha? Who cares anyway?? SHUT UP EVERYONE. It is up to me. I choose the fancy fixins' for my own fanjita. Outrage: MEN never knowingly volunteer themselves for this much torture. What's the common pain equivalent? Kick in the nuts? Vasectomy? Circumcision? Brazilian waxing could be an effective alternative to waterboarding. Shock: Christonabike that f*cking hurt. If she rips that other bit a small scream is gonna come out. Horror: Gah! Okay so that was definitely a piece of my f*nny. Mother of God a piece of my f*anny has come off. If I look will it be gone? Is this bitch insane? Relief: Nope, if I squint downwards I can confirm it's still there. And looking decidedly neat too. Ooooh that looks quite good actually. This is fine. I can do this. Elation: It's over! I'm alive and almost certainly intact. The embarrassment, physical trauma and mental exhaustion has all been totally worth it in return for four weeks worth of glamorous groin action. Gratitude: Thank you, lord, for making Irish summers short and foreign holidays rare and expensive.