My heart, my soul, surely would be thine
If thou wouldst but wax thy bikini line.
- W. Shakespeare*

I think we can all agree that life is just not fair. We men get to walk around the beach looking like gorillas in board shorts, while women have to live in fear of showing even the tiniest hint of stubble on their legs, armpits or the dreaded bikini line.

Now, let me just say that there are some things us guys generally prefer not to know about women, and one of the main ones would be how they deal with unwanted body hair. It’s not that we don’t sympathize or appreciate all the effort. We would just rather not hear the details. So why, you might ask, am I tackling this subject in print?

Because, ladies, I have felt your pain.

It all started with a relatively innocent conversation with my wife. She refused to take off her sweat pants to go for a swim, “…because I didn’t have time to shave my legs lately. I’ll look like a Wookie.”

“Aw Honey,” I said reassuringly (and naively), “I’m sure you look just fine.”

In reply, she showed me. While she had been exaggerating, I made one of those unfortunate clever statements that lives forever in a relationship; “Wow, you’re right! I’m married to Chewbacca!”

What followed was a fairly lively and detailed discussion of various grooming techniques, the hardships of shaving, and the tenderness of my face, which I shave daily, versus… well, you get the picture. Then I made the second unfortunate statement; “Well, I hear waxing is great, and it lasts for a month.”

This set off another lively discussion, this time centered around the philosophical premise, “If you know so damned much, why don’t we wax you?”

Not having a particularly well-thought-out answer, I replied, “All right, sure. I’m game.” Strike three!

My wife and I decided that the experiment would involve waxing the stray fur that had been taking over my back in recent years, since neither of us was even the least bit interested in my bikini line. We shopped around for an appropriate product, finally deciding on a no-heat waxing kit made in Australia. This stuff is apparently a time-honored way to keep people nice and smooth Down Under.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist that.

The kit comes in an official-looking box containing a jar of green goo, some soap, strips of cloth, a tube of moisturizing lotion, a kind of spatula implement and an illustrated instruction manual.

The book told us to trowel the green goo onto the area to be treated, stick a strip of cloth to it and rub it down for a few seconds, then yank the whole mess off. The theory is that the green stuff will stick to the rag and to the hair, resulting in a "...virtually painless grooming experience."

I’m here to tell you that there is a substantial gap between theory and practice.

My wife carefully reviewed the instructions and prepared to begin the defoliation. I had adopted the heroic good spirits of a Spitfire pilot about to tangle with The Hun out over the Channel. “Go ahead,” I said, “I have nothing to fear but fear itsel...”

My wife interrupted my corruption of FDR’s words by pulling off the first strip.

I think I might have actually blacked out for a few seconds. When I came to my senses I was gasping for breath. My wife mistook my silence for stoicism and asked, “Did that hurt?”

“No,” I gasped. “No problem. Hardly felt a thing. Carry on.”

The next strip ranked somewhere in the pantheon of pain between banging your shin on the coffee table and being flogged. “Are you pulling the strip off ‘quickly and firmly?’” I panted. “The book says it will be a ‘virtually painless grooming experience’ if you pull it off ‘quickly and firmly.’”

This went on for a while, with each strip more painful than the last. Finally my wife said, “I just don’t have the heart to keep this up. It’s starting to draw blood.”

It is interesting to note that every one of my friends’ wives, hearing this story, say that they would not have quit. They say they would have kept on ripping away until their husbands begged them to stop or passed out. To this I can only say, “Thanks, Honey.”

In any case ladies, my hat is off to you. I can now rate waxing up there with menstrual cramps, childbirth, and watching Oprah as things I’m glad you do.

*Warren Shakespeare, a guy I used to play golf with.

Copyright © 2010, Michael Ball  

Mike Ball is the Erma Bombeck Award-winning author of "What I've Learned So Far..." and the book What I've Learned So Far... Part I: Bikes, Docks & Slush Nuggets.