SO GLAD I GOT A WAX

Want to jinx a date? Get a wax.

I’M, LIKE, SOOOOO GLAD I SPENT $70 AND 20 VERY PAINFUL MINUTES GETTING A WAX FOR THIS DATE. JUST SO GLAD.

I consider myself a moderately superstitious person. I always throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it and I knock on wood relentlessly if a bad thought floats through my head. But I don’t, like, lick a light switch if the moon is in Jupiter or something, or only fly on planes ending in odd numbers.

But one thing I have found to be an absolute jink is a pre-date wax. I don’t care if he’s your fiance, you get a wax for what you hope will be a hot night and LOL JK! It’ll end in disaster.

Let me explain.

I’m decamping to California for the rest of winter and figured I should probably get laid one last time before I leave Montana. I love being home with my family and everything but c’mon I’m a red-blooded American girl, I have needs. And my time of sneaking out of my childhood bedroom to meet boys is over, so when I’m home, I live a totally sexless boy-free life and it sucks.

My girls were taking me out for a “ta-ta for now, Montana” dinner in Manhattan (population 1,906) (on a good day) and, because the worst crimes are premeditated, I had already planned to text one of my favorite booty calls.

Well, Blake wasn’t exactly a booty call yet. We were still in the snapchatting-thirst-traps phase and smooching a little at the bars when we ran into each other. But I was about to enter a sexual desert and didn’t feel like playing coy.

So, I let him know I’d be out and about, and was leaving for California in the morning…hint hint, baby.

He replied with a weiner pic which, ew, but also I was glad we’re on the same page my dude, and made a stop at the salon before heading out to dinner with the girls. A little voice reminded me of all the times I’d gotten a wax only to have plans fall through, the date go bad, etc etc. My friends even warned me. But no no, I knew better. So off I went.

MISTAKE.

What happened next was by far the cringiest most terrible text exchange I’ve ever had to endure, made even more awful by the fact that he sent photos to prove it. You’ll see what I mean…

8pm.

Blake: Heyyyy how’s dinner

Me: Good, we’re wrapping up wyd

Blake: Just jerking off

Me, in real life: EW WHAT WHY WOULD HE TELL ME THAT BARF.

Me, on text: 😳

Blake: Just getting ready for ya babe

Me: Haha see you soon

A TMI exchange but, ok fine whatever. Don’t order sausage if you’re grossed out about how it’s made, ya know? But oh, things got worse…

9pm.

Me: Wanna meet us downtown?

Blake: So there’s a problem…

Me: Are you drunk? Mads can pick you up

Blake: No there’s a problem with my dick

Me: ??

Blake: It just won’t get hard, I’ve tried everything. I jerked off and then tried to again like usual but it’s not cooperating I’m freaking out

Me: Um, ok. Sorry to hear that I guess?

“There’s a problem with my dick” is probably the least enticing phrase a woman could ever hear, because whatever follows, from “I have syphilis” to “I find you so disgusting I can’t get it up” is not what you want to hear.

But let me tell you, it’s way worse to SEE.

9:20pm.

Blake: Ok so I’m still trying

Me: Please stop.

PLEASE JUST STOP IN GENERAL PLEASE MAKE THIS STOP.

9:35pm.

Blake: Babe I’ve really tried, see?

I will not post the photo here because I don’t hate you all with the fire of a thousand suns, and I’d have to in order to text you photos of an extremely flaccid and self-abused weiner.

Me: Blake I don’t need proof I believe you, I’m just going to go home ok

Blake: No LOOK see I’m trying!! This has never happened before I swear!!!

Then came the video. THE VIDEO. I have never in my life willingly or excitedly watched a video of a guy J’ing off (I don’t even like the term)—it’s boring and violent and unsexy. And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Like…cheer them on or something? IDK. I’m good in bed but this is never something I’ve understood. So a video of a flaccid shrunken miserable ween was an act of terrorism.

Me: Blake please please stop I literally do not want to see this at all

But he didn’t stop. Roiling in his own emasculation or perviness or…I don’t even know what, he texted me in SO MUCH DETAIL about methods he’s trying, how he’s SURE he’d be good to go once I arrived, and an exhaustive history of his weiner, just so I knew he could typically perform.

I wanted to throw my phone in a river, bleach my brain, gouge out my eyes and plug up my ears.

Maybe plug them up with, oh I don’t know, wax.