Here, Hold This: My First Brazilian Adventure

This guest blog by Emmie, a long-time member of the More Cowbell posse, made me die laughing. Plus, the post addressed a most important question: What is the tie-in between a bikini wax and the quest for personal responsibility?

Read on my friends, read on…

Here, Hold This: My First Brazilian Adventure
by Emmie Mears

I’m no stranger to earthy humor. I grew up in a home with two moms, an older step-sister who could belch in your face with enough force to make your cheeks wave in the wind, and an older step-brother who may or may not have collected his own boogers. As I grew older, I was unfazed by fart jokes and tampons, first gyno visits and outhouses alike.

At twenty-nine with my first book coming out, a separation in progress, and the world opening up in front of me again, I realized there was one thing (okay, lots of things) I hadn’t done yet that I’d always been curious about. In this case: getting a Brazilian wax.

Having just gotten my IUD the month before and having been told by my doctor that I didn’t even flinch – I may have strutted out of his office with my puffed up chest all the way up in my face from pride, as he’d tried to dissuade me from getting it because the process was painful – I figured getting the hair on my nether regions yanked out by the root would be nothing.

Yeah, nothing

I scoured Yelp for a good place in my area and found one woman who operated out of her home and had a wealth of five and four star reviews. “That’s the one,” I said to myself. I made an appointment and sat back to wait for the time to pass.

I’d tried waxing my legs once as an adolescent, with my neighbor and comrade-in-arms who was a couple years younger than I. We neither of us waited till the hair was long enough, so we ended up essentially with the equivalent of a mass leg hair pulling session that speckled our legs with little blood blisters and left us bemused, stinging, and disappointed.

When I arrived for my waxing appointment, that was the only memory of wax I had. My aesthetician led me down to her basement, where she had a nice little table set up. “Bottoms off,” she said.

At least she didn’t say up, I thought.

I obeyed and stripped off my bottoms. After three visits to my OB in the past six months, shyness had left me with a curt “Ta” and the thought of baring my hoo-ha to a total and complete stranger oddly didn’t even make me blink.

“This is my first time getting waxed,” I told my aesthetician.

“It will hurt,” she said.

[Aestheticians: more honest than dentists.]

I’d heard they used baby powder to keep the wax from adhering to the skin. She didn’t. On went the wax, over it went a strip of fabric.

It wouldn’t be too bad. Just a quick —



That first strip felt like she’d flayed me instead of just taken off some hair. My upper lip became suspiciously damp. I took a deep breath. Surely that strip had been like, half the hair. I peeked down as she smeared more wax.

It’d been about an inch wide.


I thought back to the IUD in that moment. That was supposed to be akin to the early stages of labor, right? Dilating a body part that is built to push out a baby? WHY DID THIS HURT WORSE?


Smear, smear, smush.


A few strips and now-dripping beads of sweat later, the aesthetician looked at me. “Hold this,” she said.

By this, she meant a certain part of my anatomy. So she wouldn’t get wax on it.

Agreeing wholeheartedly that I did not want hot wax on that particular girly bit, I obliged, wondering in that moment why I hadn’t skipped this idea and gone straight to having carnitas with my friend Lindsey. Or tequila. LOTS of tequila.

Sometimes it takes being half-naked on a table holding a sensitive bit of your body out of the destructive path of a stranger wielding hot wax to realize that you can take an awful lot from life.

It was on that table that I understood a few things about the coming months of my life, book launch and divorce included.

First, if getting your pubic hair ripped out by the root does not prepare you for literary criticism, I don’t know what does. Second, I could blame no one for my current predicament but myself. It certainly wasn’t anyone else’s idea for me to undergo this Brazilian torture session. The same went for the rest of my life. My life. My job to make it what I wanted it to be.

At that odd juncture of hot wax, personal responsibility and laissez-faire stoicism, I felt hope for my future.

And really, for $35 plus tip, I think I got a bargain.

*  *  *  *  *  *

I’m still up in the air on whether the epiphany is equal to the torture, but I loved  this post! (Although Emmie, next time go to Pretty Kitty. I’m just sayin…) Have you had an epiphany like this (including hot wax, or not)? What was your biggest aha moment? Enquiring minds always want to know these things here at More Cowbell!

I hope y’all ring that cowbell loud and hard for Emmie, IYKWIM.

~ Jenny

What else is this gorgeous writer up to? Well today happens to be her Launch Day for her new book, set in Scotland, The Masked Songbird.

The Masked Songbird by Emmie Mears Mildly hapless Edinburgh accountant Gwenllian Maule is surviving. She’s got a boyfriend, a rescued pet bird and a flatmate to share rent. Gwen’s biggest challenges: stretching her last twenty quid until payday and not antagonizing her terrifying boss.

Then Gwen mistakenly drinks a mysterious beverage that gives her heightened senses, accelerated healing powers and astonishing strength. All of which come in handy the night she rescues her activist neighbour from a beat-down by political thugs.

Now Gwen must figure out what else the serum has done to her body, who else is interested and how her boss is involved. Finally—and most mysteriously—she must uncover how this whole debacle is connected to the looming referendum on Scottish independence.

Gwen’s hunt for answers will test her superpowers and endanger her family, her friends—even her country.

To pre-order The Masked Songbird, click here. Released in a box set, you get four great paranormal and urban fantasy books for less than $4!

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

About Emmie

EmmieMearsEmmie Mears was born in Austin, Texas, where the Lone Star state promptly spat her out at the tender age of three months. After a childhood spent mostly in Alaska, Oregon, and Montana, she became a proper vagabond and spent most of her time at university devising ways to leave the country.

Except for an ill-fated space opera she attempted at age nine, most of Emmie’s childhood was spent reading books instead of writing them. Growing up she yearned to see girls in books doing awesome things, and struggled to find stories in her beloved fantasy genre that showed female heroes saving people and hunting things. Mid-way through high school, she decided the best way to see those stories was to write them herself. She now scribbles her way through the fantasy genre, most loving to pen stories about flawed characters and gritty situations lightened with the occasional quirky humor.

Emmie now lives in her eighth US state, still yearning for a return to Scotland. She inhabits a cozy domicile outside DC with two felines who think they’re lions and tigers.

Follow Emmie on Twitter @EmmieMears and join her on Facebook. You can also find her at or Searching for SuperWomen: Geek Girls Getting Loud.

About Jenny Hansen

Avid seeker of "more"...More words, more creativity, More Cowbell! An extrovert who's terribly fond of silliness. Founding blogger at Writers In The Storm ( Write on!
This entry was posted in Humor, Inspiration and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

21 Responses to Here, Hold This: My First Brazilian Adventure

  1. Jenny Hansen says:

    Emmie, thanks for hanging here at More Cowbell with me! It’s summer vacation season, but for the people who are home, they’ll laugh their heads off. 🙂


  2. K.B. Owen says:

    Oh my word, Emmie – you did this WILLINGLY? I thought you lost a bet or something. Hope it was summertime…a gal needs her nest in the winter, LOL. Sounds like you got a lot out of the experience, at least! 😉


    • Jenny Hansen says:

      Kathy, you slay me: “…a gal needs her nest in the winter.” ROFL. I’m not a “voluntary Brazilian” kinda gal either, I have to tell you. The regular bikini wax was enough to send me to the Nair aisle.


    • Emmie Mears says:

      I did! LOL. And I even went again. To a different salon (read: a salon not in someone’s home). It was WAY easier the second time, ha.


  3. tomwisk says:

    Male comment: Not what women will do to look attractive but why? Someday you might want it back and it won’t grow back..


    • Jenny Hansen says:

      Tom, I have to tell you…everyone *says* that waxing gets rid of hair forever and that is SUCH A LIE. At least it has been in my experience. 🙂


    • Emmie Mears says:

      Eh, for me it’s a comfort thing. 🙂 It’s not about aesthetics for me (for all the waxers call themselves aestheticians), but primarily because I prefer it. TMI answer to go along with a TMI post. 😀


  4. Sharla Rae says:

    Ouch! I’ve often wondered about doing the Brazilian thing. But I was saved from it . . . sort of. I got the big C and am getting chemo. I’m using Cold Caps to keep the hair on my head but nothing could be done for the brows, lashes or . . . well you get the picture. 🙂 I wondered what hubby would say. I’m happy to say, he said, “I kinda like it.” I’ll let him live a little longer, bless his heart. 🙂 So I escaped the painful wax and ladies, and I haven’t shaved my legs in months. How cool is that? My Epiphany? I can find perks in almost anything! 🙂


    • Emmie Mears says:

      WOW. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re fighting that big C (we hates it, Precious), but your attitude is amazing. *high five* KICK ITS ASS.


  5. Okay, Emmie and Jenny … I must say that of all the topics I might find waiting for me when I surf my fav blogs … this is a first. First and last I can’t believe I am actually going to comment. First: Jen the hair below the mid-line must have strong roots because shaving and waxing eye-brows can leave you with a bare face. Last … I am allergic to wax … as the huge red bumps on my forehead that hurt for days will attest. So? I shaved. Hey girls, I’m Italian and we paesanas are hairy … thick dark hair … thank goodness never on my bum or back … but I could braid the hairs on my legs and underarms and those little guys in the middle kept wanting to get air and sunshine when I put on a bathing suit.

    Post note to Emmie … wait a few decades. In your fifth or sixth decade you won’t need to wax off those little suckers … they will crash and burn and fall off on their own 🙂


    • Jenny Hansen says:

      Florence, all my Italian friends pretty much wax from their eyebrows to their toenails. And what a cool word! Paesanas…. (I’m over here saying that over and over again, enjoying the way it rolls around my mouth.)

      And I’m telling you, I might be fair and fine in the Brazilian department, but those follicles have staying power. That is all.


  6. ericjbaker says:

    I once let a girlfriend talk me into a back wax, administered by her. Before anyone runs to the toilet and vomits at the imagery: No, my back hair is not the equivalent of a pubic carpet. Just bits here and there that make me unattractive by 21st century standards. So anyway, I let a person who was a known emotional sadist and a sloppy process follower pour hot wax on me and rip out my back hair. The only epiphany I had was that I wouldn’t let that stuff near my nether regions in a million years. As I said, I already knew she was a sadist, so nothing learned there. In retrospect, that was probably one of the less miserable encounters I ever had with her.

    Good luck with the book, Emmie. Sounds fun!


    • Jenny Hansen says:

      Shut the front door! You let a girlfriend talk you into hot wax on your posterior? You are one brave guy. Because trust me, with your back turned, she could’ve put that stuff ANYWHERE and you would have been clueless until the *rrruuuuuup*.

      I bow to your trust factor, Eric!


      • ericjbaker says:

        Yeah well, it ended with police and restraining orders (not during the waxing part. later), I’m not sure my trust factor is anything worth bowing to!


  7. OUCH OUCH OUCH! You women go through so much pain to make yourselves sexy to us guys. Sure, we do appreciate it, but I’ll even admit as a guy most of us are wimps when it comes to that stuff. I keep picturing the scene in The 40 Year Old Virgin where Steve Carrell has his body waxed and ripped apart! Nope – not me!


    • Jenny Hansen says:

      Phil, I’ve gotta tell you, I have yet to meet the guy that turns a girl down for lack of lady-scaping. Truly, we do this for each other, much more than we do for the guys. 🙂


  8. The only epiphany I can think of at six in the morning…when I should be going to bed (but am not because I hate storms) is that I never, ever, ever want a Brazilian wax. Nair or personal groomers have to be easier. Oh yeah…and as I sit through another icky storm, I know I’ll never, ever, ever buy another house without a basement. That or I’ll just buy a basement house so I don’t have to worry about getting there in a hurry should the need arise. 😀


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