This really happened though it could easily have been a nightmare.
The day after Thanksgiving, I was lying on the treatment table at the Silver Springs Medical Spa in North Vancouver while an esthetician ripped the hairs out of my lower body. I had not worked with this girl before and her accent was confounding me.
In the course of chit chat one sentence in particular eluded me and after asking her to repeat herself three times my natural Canadian politeness kicked in so I just nodded and smiled. My other natural instinct, namely obsessiveness, continued to work on the translation problem until I realized that one of the keywords used was "Brazilian".
I spent the next twenty minutes using my yogic breathing to combat not just the awareness of my healthy Celtic hair roots leaving my body, but avoiding any ill-advised calculation of the pain to shaft diameter ratio given how much beefier the hair north of my thighs is compared to anywhere else.
I still have no idea what she asked, but perhaps the barrier of my underwear was sufficient to communicate what my words might not - ie please leave me covered. In any case, I left with most of the arctic circle intact.
I drove home to begin the easier part of prepping for the Bahamas: packing a suitcase.
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