Have you ever had your private parts covered in plastic wrap?
It’s happened to me three times now and it’s pretty hilarious.
No, get your mind out of the gutter, this is not a sexual thing.
I go once a month for laser hair removal treatments. I’d never had it done before and the very first session the technician didn’t tell me that for an extra $15 I could buy numbing lotion.
I figured nothing could be worse than waxing so I wasn’t worried about getting the IPL done, I thought it would be painless. But when she began lasering me I started twitching about and squeaking in surprise at the pain and once I even reflexively grabbed her wrist to stop her from hurting me.
The technician is a large Iranian woman with a very heavy accent and an extremely blunt way of talking.
The first time I met her she scared the crap out of me.
Especially when she frowned down at me on the table during that first session and said, “You have never had baby, this is not pain.”
I am of the opinion that if you have someone half-naked on a table they are probably feeling pretty vulnerable and you should only say comforting things to them, not make them feel simultaneously ashamed for both their intolerance of pain and unfruitful loins.
That first session was not fun.
But since then I’ve come to like my technician.
She is very blunt, and she tends to speak quite harshly, but she’s really interesting. She’s talked to me about fleeing from Iran to Australia in the 1980’s, her Baha’i faith, all her children…
And she’s actually quite nice.
I only think that now because she finally told me about the numbing lotion.
So…back to that lotion. It needs to stay on for fifteen minutes before lasering begins and in order to quicken the absorption rate she pulls a piece of plastic wrap off a roll and presses it down over my skin.
The first two times she did this I started giggling but she ignored me and went and did work on her computer while the lotion sunk in.
Today I started smiling the moment I saw her holding the roll of plastic wrap and then when she placed it over my privates I started giggling again and she said, “Why do you always laugh?”
I said, “Because I feel like my private parts are leftovers and you’re wrapping them to keep them from going bad.”
It was one of those thoughts that slip out of my mouth at the same time that my brain is thinking “Don’t say this, it’s weird.”
She frowned at me and said, “What is leftovers?”
“You know, when you have food that you haven’t finished eating? And you put it in the fridge for later? But first you have to cover it?”
She shook her head at me, still frowning and said, “I come from a very poor family. Lots of brothers and sisters. We did not have this leftovers.”
I had no idea how to continue that conversation so I just shut the hell up and stared at her.
She stared back at me.
It was very awkward.
And suddenly there I was, my private parts covered in plastic wrap, feeling very vulnerable again.
For the next fifteen minutes while I lay on the table I made myself stare at the ceiling because every time I looked down at that plastic wrap I just wanted to laugh.
And I felt if I giggled, she would probably kill me.
Dying half -naked is not very dignified. Dying half -naked and covered in plastic wrap is down-right disgraceful.
It was a rough fifteen minutes.
Let’s do a 180 now.
Tom plays on a basketball team and the other night I went and watched his game. Most of his teammates were busy and unable to make the game so one of the guys had a friend of his sub in, a very big and super friendly Maori guy.
He was good. Well, I judge good on whether or not you make a basket, but Tom broke it down and told me that he was “great at handling the ball” and his “street game was amazing.”
Anyway, Tom was talking to me about him on the drive home after the game (which they won by one point!) and he says to me, “Yeah, that big dude lost a tooth.”
“When?” I asked.
“During the game.” Tom said to me, as if this was a silly question. “I guess he got elbowed in the mouth or something. I saw him throw the tooth over his shoulder and then he said something about it later.”
Tom shrugged, “It happens.”
“Like…wait..wait…he got elbowed in the face hard enough that he lost a tooth? Like a REAL tooth?”
“Yup. One of his side ones.”
My brain could not wrap around this.
If I got elbowed in the face I’d be down for quite some time. If I got elbowed in the face and LOST A TOOTH you’d probably have to do some convincing to keep me from calling 911.
I watched that whole game. I didn’t look at my phone once. I was ENGAGED. And I saw nothing.
Not only that, but after the game that dude was standing around laughing and talking as if nothing had happened.
“He lost a tooth?!,” I shouted. “And he didn’t even save it?! Is he going to the dentist? Is he just going to have a hole in his mouth now? WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?!?”
I felt almost panicky. I thought maybe I should tell Tom to turn the car around and go back to the gym so I could go take care of the poor guy.
“It’s not a big deal, Leah, he didn’t care.”
I kept shaking my head the whole ride home as if I had water in my ears. But really I was just trying to get my brain to accept the fact that losing teeth is not a big deal.
Apparently leftovers and the desire to keep all your teeth are just things we soft pansy-ish Americans have.
I never knew.
One more thing, a life tip if you will….
If a box of NOT-chicken nuggets doesn’t have microwaving as an option for cooking, then DON’T microwave the nuggets.
I feel like this was probably a lesson I should have learned when I was five or when I was twenty-something and in college but alas, I’ve only just learned it today at thirty-seven years old.
Who knew five tiny little pieces of food could generate so much smoke.
At least it wasn’t as bad as the time I almost set the microwave on fire trying to melt a bowl of chocolate chips.
Tom didn’t let me live that one down for days.
Gotta run, loveys.
P.S. I’m trying to put a picture on here every day, partially because I know we all like having something to look at, but also because my links look better with a photo next to them.
So here’s an oldie but goodie. I found this gem of a costume several months ago in a general store in a little beach town called Whangamata.
This is New Zealand’s idea of what it takes to be a Mexican….put a colorful poncho on what looks to be an Australian dude.
God bless ’em all.