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Sas-crotch

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

Sas-crotch

My husband affectionately calls my nether-region “Sas-crotch”. He has an obsession with the big-footed beast, proudly wearing at times a T-shirt with BFRO written across the front in glow-in-the-dark letters. What’s BFRO you ask? Why it’s the Big Foot Research Organization. The only VHS video we still have in our possession is a copy of “The Legend of Boggy Creek”, a film about Bigfoot in East Texas and Arkansas that terrified him as a child. His favorite commercials, the ones he pauses the conversation to watch, are the Jack Links’ “Messin’ with Sasquatch” series, which is pretty genius. But I digress.

Sas-crotch, as we’ll call her, doesn’t get a lot of trimming these days. I don’t wear your normal girls’ underwear, I wear a longer version that doesn’t make the issue as pressing. The only time I attempt to address it now is when I brave a swimsuit for the sake of my dear children…or this blasted blog.

My provider of choice was the Heena Salon at the end of my street. This place was a treasured find for my sister and I (we were both blessed with abundant eyebrows), and it features a bevy of Indian beauties threading you while the thread hangs from their mouths. They do the work on my eyebrows and upper lip (ouch!) in five minutes for under $10. Really, if you’re in DFW, go!

You walk in and take a number, then wait as a huge TV airs an Indian channel I don’t receive. I’ve seen Indian American Idol, Indian “Telenovelas”, and this latest visit, “Sooper Hits” [sic]. The promo features a man and woman being hit with a boxing glove full force in slow motion as the lead-in to awesome videos with choreographed group numbers a la the end of “Slumdog Millionaire.”

After avoiding this mission for longer than I should have, I worked up my courage and went on my way home from work. I brought the only pair of regular girl panties I still have, which is a fringed g-string my mother-in-law gave me at my bridal luncheon. It looks ridiculous with my unmanicured bits. I thought I might have to hold the fringe and edge of the panties while she did her work.

I took my number, 34 (my age next month, kismet), and sat in one of the back chairs where the “waxers” are. One note, the women that wax at Heena are Hispanic, and amazing. I’ve done just my bikini line once, and was amazed with their technique, which virtually removed the portion where you’re anticipating the pain and the yank because they don’t yank when you expect them to. A sweet girl named Hilda took me into her room, which is open at the ceiling so any yelping would be audible to those being shorn beyond.

Sweet Latin incantations overpowered the Bollywood voices outside as I told her it was my first time. She instructed me to take it all off. I bumbled my way onto the table, and she took the wooden stick to me. Over. And over. And over again. I coped the way I did when I deliver babies – focus on a spot on the ceiling and breathe deep. She was thorough, lifting, spreading, patting as she stripped me completely bare, telling me in the process that if I come in four weeks there won’t be as much hair and it won’t hurt as badly. The kicker? Once my front was bare, she had me roll over, spread parts and did my bottom! That part, by the way, didn’t hurt after what I had already endured.

I laughed out loud when I saw it in the mirror and put on my fancy panties. Emerging into the hot Texas sun, I realized the trip to Brazil had taken no more than 10 minutes. Once home, I made a bee-line for my husband, lifted my dress and did a little dance to shake the fringe on the G-string, then pulled it down to sufficient admiration (I was only red, not rashed). Since I waited so long to do the challenge, I haven’t had time for the official “reveal”, but I did wear the fancy panties for the rest of the evening, which included going fishing at a local pond in a shirt dress.

I will say, however, that it’s made me feel incredibly sexy, and I’m anticipating much more feeling in certain parts without the protective layer of Sas-crotch’s winter coat.

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  1. […] “vajazzle Dallas” separately and discovered the same provider. You see, while I loved Hilda at Heena, I just couldn’t bear the thought of her possibly not knowing what a vajazzle was and trying […]

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