I discovered by asking around that I may have been using the wrong phrasing by asking for a Brazilian Wax. I’ve been stopping by random salons to ask about “back alley waxing”. This morning as I was asking perhaps the fifth person, a petite young girl apparently just out of high school who was operating the front desk if they did “a downstairs wax”, an woman standing next to me – evidently a customer, pulled me aside.
“They’re called “a tight wax”.”
“I thought it was illegal here in Utah.” I said.
“Well, yes, but if you ask for a “tight wax” and they wear gloves, and leave at least a small strip of hair, and they don’t touch you in any way that could be considered sexual, or cause you pain – then they can get away with it.” She shrugged. “If you know what I mean.”
She waggled her eyebrows at me as if there was some significance to her revelation.
“But by the very nature-of the um, procedure, there’s got to be some – um, touching – and probably a significant amount of pain.” I said hesitantly.
She nodded again…”If you get my drift.”
I was starting to get freaked out because she was using her body language to make it sound like a dirty joke. I half expected that “tight wax” could be a Mormon euphemism for “happy ending” and while a “happy ending” equivalent in the Mormon subculture of Northern Utah would help me find a new wellspring of respect for the tragic souls that live here – I know better – it’s probably some practical joke the Mormons play on unwitting out of state non-believers designed to be a painful lesson about the superiority of the Faithful.
I returned to the counter, and the young timid girl working and said, “Could you schedule me a “tight wax” with my acid peel.”
“Ahh,” she said nodding with a knowing smile. “A tight wax.” She glanced at the other woman who was standing behind me then back at me again, “Where did you say you are from?”
“Portland.” I answered feeling more nervous by the minute.
“Unfortunately, we can’t schedule the wax and the peel on the same day.” She said.
“That’s okay,” I jumped at the chance to change my mind. “I’ll just do the peel tomorrow and schedule the wax later.”
The girl shrugged and as I left I thought perhaps I was being paranoid, but the look the girl gave the woman who explained a “tight wax” seemed laden with mischief.
I hurried out to the jeep and decided that until I get back to Portland and the safety of my twisted friends, I’ll just use a razor and call it good.
This part of the world just freaks me out! I ‘m crazy homesick for the predictable and understandable weirdness of Portland and Seattle.
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