Poor hubby can sometimes feel like an over worked cash machine but one thing he doesn’t object to handing over money for is a lil bit of lady waxing.
I always thought that the poor love had become shell shocked at the birth of our first daughter when he had a sneaky peak at the action end and was witness to (well you know what I mean), but I later discovered it was in fact my lady area rocking a seventies vibe that disturbed him so. Since then I have felt somewhat obliged to ensure laziness in the gardening section doesn’t happen again. I might point out that I was heavily pregnant and so couldn’t see the offending continent but have been assured it was a harrowing sight.
So, heavily pregnant again and not wishing to appear unruly, I lollop down to the salon. Not pleasant at the best of times, when preggers, waxing is ten times worse. The waxing technician tries to ease my pain by making me laugh, regaling me with the story of a client who revealed that after a recent tummy tuck her lady area now started at her naval and stretched across to her hips. This does make me laugh but now I am wishing I had done my pelvic floor more often!
Fifteen minutes later I hobble/lollop out of the salon and pop in the car to collect Delight from my mothers, anyone who has met Delight will understand why she should be kept away from hot wax at all times. I am greeted by a less than impressed looking mother who informs me, with soggy clothes in hand, that Delight has just used the potty. Ordinarily fine, but she has been successfully toilet trained for over a year, and the potty thing is new. After my mother found her using her clothes to mop up the overspill Delight widened her puss in boots eyes and announced that she “couldn’t find the toilet” (located next to the potty!) plausible excuses are a work in progress for Delight.
So with a half naked Delight, soggy clothes, uttering my apologies to my mum, limping/hobbling and lolloping to the car I think about being on holiday and smile. Two days and counting!