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My Visit to GITMO

October 17, 2011

Men don’t actually lose their hair as they age – it just gets redistributed (i.e. back, ears, nose, shoulders…etc.). I have the same issue. I hate it, and the older I get the bigger the problem becomes. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle against a Kudzu infestation.

I recently took my girls to get their paws and claws done at the local Mani Pedi spa, and I noticed the service menu offered ‘back waxing.’ I have heard women explain how waxing lasts longer than shaving, so I thought I would give it a try.

I made an appointment with Kim—one of the owners. I figured 2:00 p.m. on a Tuesday would be a good time to sneak in and leave without notice. No luck. It was like a Mary Kay convention in there with every Lay-Z-Boy chair filled with ladies getting pedicures, and overflow in the reception area. This would not have been so terrible except that I knew every other mom in there. As the only guy, they were keenly aware of my presence. I felt more out of place than a cowbow at a baby shower. One friend asked if I was getting my wife a gift certificate, “… umm, not exactly.” I ended up answering a different question and changing the subject. I also figured out that you don’t want to disturb a lady getting a pedicure. It evokes the same feeling in them as it does in guys when their wife strikes up a conversation with 1:45 left in the game.

My nerves got to me, and I had to make a trip to the powder room. Then I discovered that there was no men’s room. Why would there be? Living in a girl house, I decided to sit rather than take any risk that something would go amiss. There are two ways I know of to incite a female riot. The first is to not leave the seat as you found it, and the second is to mess up a fresh pedicure. The situation was fragile. Every woman in there knew where I was and what I was doing. If I didn’t leave everything as I had found it, there was no one to else blame. I had visions of agitated women dragging my lifeless body through the street with the situation escalating as each time they kicked me, it scuffed their fresh pedicure sending them deeper into their rage. I focused and made it back to the sitting area without incident.

Without a glance or even a pause in their conversations, I knew the ladies’ curiosity was KILLING them as I followed Kim to the back. Let me just say that my time with Kim produced no “happy ending.” The whole thing starts out fine with a comfortable table, nice music and a friendly smile, but the pleasantries end there. I felt the powder, the hot wax, and that is the last I remember of the “spa” experience. The rest of the session was taken from a chapter out of a GITMO interrogation manual. Kim kept saying, “so sorry” and “the first time is worst.” “You come back next time, and it not hurt so bad.” A friend once explained to me that the North American Plains Indians would torture and kill their enemies by skinning them alive, and it was the women of the tribe that administered the punishment. After this whole experience, I feel I have some idea of what that must have been like.

My spa day gave me an idea. Since I live across the street from the local swimming pool, I thought I could set up a back waxing business as a community service for those guys who are in denial about their hair redistribution issue. It would definitely benefit those of use who share the pool with them. I figure I could do a guy version out of my garage. Let’s be honest here, this notion that ripping out back hair in a spa is somehow “more comfortable” is just marketing spin. I figure I could have Sports Center on, serve beer and use duct tape instead of wax so the guys feel more in their element.

© Johnny Hea – 2011 All Rights Reserved

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