The eternal challenge of womankind

There are many rites of passage on the way to womanhood. For years, you watch your mother, your older sister, and wonder how much longer it will be before you join their ranks.

First, the experiments with make-up, walking around in high-heeled shoes that are three times too big for you. The different hairstyles; trying to make yourself feel more grown up than you really are. Your first period, where you realise that growing up is not all that it's cracked up to be. And of course, the ultimate confirmation that you are now a woman - waxing.

No girl ever forgets the first time she got her legs waxed. The warm wax lulling you into a sense of security; maybe this isn't all that bad... right before the painful shock of the cloth ripping away slams into you. And then finally, the wonderfully smooth skin that makes it all worthwhile. Over the years, you learn to bear the pain in a way that you barely even feel it anymore.

But you later realise, that the greatest challenge is not getting through the pain, it is finding a place where you can get waxed without having to deal with the inevitable chatter that comes along with it. 98% of the women that work at waxing parlous suffer from the unfortunate misconception that they must speak to the customer while waxing them. It does not seem to occur to them that you are trying desperately to forget that you are even there, never mind about actually acknowledging the experience and going on to make small talk while you're half naked and at their mercy.

After too many of these painfully unnecessary conversations, I decided that maybe the solution was finding someone that could come to me, and in the safety of my own home, I would not need to bother about being thought of as rude just because I did not wish to talk while my hair was being ripped off.

I was mistaken. When a waxing woman comes home, you are at her mercy. She thinks that she has your undivided attention (which she does) and therefore she can freely tell you about her trip over to your house, the traffic, what her children are doing, how annoying her mother-in-law is, how her mother was a saint and surely in heaven, the political situation, her opinion on every single Hindi movie she has ever watched and of course, her husband. These episodes at home were even more exhausting than the ones at the parlours, and were abandoned after only four attempts at some peace and quiet.

So if anyone knows what the solution is to this dilemma (with the exception of laser treatment, I just quit my job and can barely afford anything!), I'm all ears. And in the meantime, my ipod is coming along with me to every future visit. If you can't beat 'em, block them out as best you can.