I waxed my friend’s back last night. 

My constant giggling raised his suspicions as to whether I was high or into masochism. 

Neither.  I (oddly) found it highly entertaining. The double-fisting at dinner –because should one really have to pick between Coronas and carafes of Sangria when eating Mexican? –was somewhat to blame but only partially. I think maybe I am just weird? Sometime I will delve deeper into my fascination with all things dermatological (oh yes, Internet, be excited for that one), but for now, take it that waxing may just be my new hobby. 

But no one gross.  Hello, it’s still me and I am still pretty shallow.  My waxing spa would require a bouncer and a red-velvet rope to exclude those who don’t make the cut.  Even though I would think the gorilla-types would be more entertaining –all that hair on the strip?  oo, I am getting a little excited thinking about it.  Maybe I need to open my spa in Africa to beautify the jungles.  Internet, is this getting to be too much information for you?  How much crazy can your love withstand?  I am guessing two paragraphs ago. 

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