I received my first bikini wax when I was 16, when I was young, naive, and easily corrupted. My teenage-hood wasn’t one that caused my parents headaches or involved nightly escapades to drink beer acquired from bums outside the local 7/11. I was relatively calm, confused, and enthralled by things most teenagers paid no mind to (holler in classic rock, magical realism literature, and British TV shows). But I did get my first bikini wax when I was 16.
I can’t remember the exact reasons why, but it probably had to do with the media molding me into looking a very unreachable idyllic way, one that I still fight with today (I’m winning the battle I promise!). Continue reading “Thought #9: Bush, no bush, your choice”