2:29 p.m.: I walk into the waxing room. Unlike my fratty peers celebrating Movember, I cannot grow a mustache. So, today I part with my pubes.
2:30 p.m.: Anthony, the man who will be ripping the hair off of my butt, taint and ballsack, enters.
2:31 p.m.: “Just strip, lie face–down here and drape the towel over yourself. I’ll be back in a minute.” Anthony turns an R&B medley on.
2:33 p.m.: There is hot wax on my butthole.
2:34 p.m.: “My friend always takes painkillers before she gets her Brazilians done, but you know, this isn’t that bad!” Kudos, Anthony.
2:36 p.m.: RIP, RIP, RIP. Anus and taint are done, y’all! I feel chic, luxurious, like a DZine2Show “model.”
2:37 p.m.: Anthony asks me to flip over so he can do my front. “All of it?” he asks. “All of it.” I want to look like a hairless Shar Pei by the end of this.
2:38 p.m.: First, the mankini line. Not so bad!
2:42 p.m.: Things take a turn for the worse: the sack.
2:43 p.m.: I turn my gaze from the ceiling fan to the wall next to me. There is a shirtless picture of Tim Tebow someone has lovingly tacked to the wall. This is the last thing I remember before–
2:45 p.m.: REST IN PEACE, SACK.
2:46 p.m.: Anthony exits. I feel like I’ve survived a Japanese horror movie. Tabard pledgemasters, take note.
2:49 p.m.: I get dressed. Ouch.
2:51 p.m.: I get out my wallet and pause. Can I bursar this? No? I hand him my card.
3:10 p.m.: Home, I hobble upstairs and Neosporin the shit out of my newly smooth toilet parts.
4:16 p.m.: I check up on my newly bald body. Was it worth it? Yes and no. Getting a Brozilian (not a typo) is not that bad, except for the scrotum waxing part. You’ll look and feel 21 years younger down there! On the other hand, and to repeat: REST IN PEACE SACK.