Bikini waxing: a not-strictly-necessary evil* that hovers somewhere between smear tests and root canal treatment on the scale of things I don't want to do on a Wednesday evening. I decided to try a new salon this time, having fallen into a bad habit of overexposing myself to Sinéad in the place across the road with my panicked witterings while she waxed (she burned my skin the last time and I'm not entirely sure it was accidental). So to Urban Wax for what proved to be a markedly less traumatic experience than some of my previous adventures - though no matter how reassuring and professional a beautician is, pouring hot wax over my ladybits and ripping it off again before she goes for the finish with tweezers and a determined look is never going to endear her to me.
*Unfortunately vaginae with sideburns just aren't in at the moment.
