The snow ball effect

Have you ever seen the cartoon of the little snow ball rolling down the hill and picking up not only speed but, a lot more snow along the way? It grows and grows and speeds along until it is huge and smashes into someone unsuspecting at the bottom of the hill.

I like this as an analogy for anything that has become more than what it was supposed to, has become more than intended, become more than anyone expected. When the idea was to do a and by the end you have done ABCDE and FFGGG. That is the snow ball effect.

I recently experienced this in a most unusual place for a me. Happy Nails. A nail place. The kind of nail place the does manicure, pedicure, polishing, painting and waxing. That kind of a nail place.

I was there with a friend and the idea was for her to get her toes and fingers done. And since I was there with her, I should get a pedicure. That was the moment the snow ball started to roll. “And he’ll have the royal pedicure” That was the first bit of extra snow, from standard to royal.

Well hells bells – since I was there, my pants rolled up to my knees, feet happy in the mini-foot-jacuzzi – might as well have that the manicure too! Not like I didn’t have the time.  Since I was getting the royal on my toes, must have the royal on my fingers as well. By now I was not saying royal but rather, Roy-Al as if two mens names.

When the time came to for finishing touches I asked for the buff shine on fingers and paint on toes. Really. Paint. Color. The woman with her hands on my feet opted to play the poor English card and let someone else with just as weak language skills ask me what I was talking about. I repeated, a few times, that I wanted my nails painted! FINALLY it was clear. Not because I had said so but because the ‘supervisor’ came over and asked the woman I had come in with, “Does he really want his nails painted”? As if I was not right there to listen to her ask!

Then I made another seemingly previously unheard of request. “No thank you, I do not want black or blue, I want a nice red wine color”. I was told, a few times, that men get black or blue. I replied, a few times, that this man wanted color. A dark red, the color of Merlot or Pinot Nior. Another visit by the supervisor to confer with my friend and viola! My toe nails were painted a wonderful color! All ten.

About this time the woman that had just finished my finger nails asked if I wanted “this” waxed, as she touched me between the eyes. “This” was the small tuft of hair between my eyebrows. My uni-brow it seems had caught her eye while all the fuss over my toes was in play.

At this point the snow ball was just perambulating down the hill picking up bits and pieces of snow along the way. But – as soon as the wax was added to the hill – things began to pick up speed and gather mass!

If I was gonna wax my eye brow, I might as well get a real waxing! For a guy, that means chest, abs and back if needed. I, needed all three. Well, need is really a reckless word since I did not need any of the things I had been doing up to that point. I really did not need to add to it either.

Alas – need, shmeed! I wanted the full fandango and I was gonna get it. “Yes, I want ‘this’ waxed” and I touched myself between the eyes. “And, this too”! Picking up my shirt to reveal/expose my rather hairy tummy.  Once again all eyes and conversation shifted to my friend, sitting to my left like a co-pilot. I wanted to be irritated at this point by this happening again but was much to involved watching the finishing touched go on my toes! I simply told her, my co-pilot, “Get me waxed would ya”?

oops.

Now, the woman that did my toes gingerly slipped my rainbow sandals on to avoid any damage to paint. I tottled off to the back waxing room. Happily pulled off my shirt and lay down. My co-pilot had turned documentary fill maker and activated the video option on my cell phone. I was stunned it had that! (She forgot to adjust volume – the best part was my whimpering and it is lost forever)

The young woman that did my finger nails was also the interrogator in the chamber of pain and suffering. She was careful to make sure she knew what direction the hair was growing. Why, I have no idea as when she pulled the paper off, it just yanked it out no matter what! It makes this odd ripping, tearing sound. A sound I was sure my skin coming off of my body, not just my hair. She had three strips off before I could breath again. My film maker was laughing so hard she damn near wet herself. (Or did and hid it well)

The process was quite painful. I say that meaning, if I could crawl nude across a 1/4 mile long red ant hill slathered in honey, I would consider it. BUT – once you start – not a lot of choice but finishing. It was bad enough to think I was gonna look 12  but to only look 12 in a small spot was just not an option.

I found that the center line, the place that is just what it sounds like, is REALLY sensitive. More so than just an inch to either side. I also discovered the navel is also REALLY sensitive.

I am sure she did not actually put wax on my nipples. That would be silly, cruel and unnecessary right? Of course, I have a lot of hair right up to and all around my areola. However, I was only slightly accustomed to the pain by this point and my buddy was a giggling, laughing, snorting video taping fool at this point, distracting me from what should have been obvious. This part is gonna hurt a bit more than the other parts.

It took me a solid two minutes to breath again. After I got my breath back – I lost it again to the other side!  A few minutes after that I asked if I could take those pieces of paper with me, the ones with my nipples on them, so maybe I could put back and hope they re-attach themselves!

20 or so minutes later I was hairless to the ‘bikini line’. I wanted her to do it all but she, the tormentor/torturer girl said, ‘You have had enough pain for one day”! Hmm.

My tummy was red. Bright red – bad sunburn red and looked like a plucked chicken. My chest was just red. The small of my back I didn’t feel at all. My nipples – well – once I saw them in the mirror, believed that in fact they were still there, became crazy hard and even more insanely sensitive! Just the brushing of my shirt was a painful yet pseudo erotic experience. Had not realized that potential.

So – results are simple. I like the look yet find it completely unreasonable to do. Not to mention how handy the hair was to help hide the lack of definition. Now I must work out harder still to get the chest, abs to look right.

It is supposed to last 30 or so days. Nope. Not only is it coming back in just ten days, with curly hair and sweating all day doing massage in a shirt, now I have to deal with my chest looking like it did when I was 13/14 – no hair and breaking out! FUCK!

OK – in the future a clipper with 1/4 inch lift is the way to go. Short, clean, not skin level, no razor and NO WAX!

However – I really want the Brazilian now. Ya know – just to have the whole experience. Not to mention, I want that woman to have to deal with my ass and other bits just as a matter of principle now! Sure, sure, in the end (no pun) she wins by ripping the hair out of my butt, testicles and other nearby areas. But she still has to deal with those parts! So, well, SO THERE!

I only learned the term ‘manscape’ after the fact. Had I known it was called something trendy, I would have NEVER done it. Never ever.

A V