I have a friend. No, that's not the end of my story. But this friend, who we'll call Friend for the purposes of this blog, popped in this afternoon.
Friend: Hi, was just in the area. Thought I'd pop in and say hi.
The Pant: You live in the, ahem, area. You're bound to find yourself in this particular area at least daily. And why are you sprinting to the microwave with a wax kit under your arm?
F: Need wax. Haven't waxed since December. (Peering in the fridge, with rising panic in voice) And where's the effing wine?
TP: Alcohol/Meat/Sugar/Chocolate/Starch/Fun-free diet. You're going under unanaesthetised.
F: Bloody hell. Shit. But why?
TP: Don't ask. Just strip.
And so there I was, spreading molten wax onto Friend, when she shrieked.
Friend: Bloody hell. Cheese and rice. Crikey effing Moses. That's going to blister!
The Pant: I know it's been a while. But that is how one removes unwanted hair from the body. And you chose to do this without wine. Me? I'm on a wax-free diet until I'm off the wine-free diet.
She chose to continue. And just as I was about to rip one of the more intricate strips off, she yelped:
Friend: Don't. It's still moist.
I feel sick. And dirty. I made her rip her own strip off and sent her home.
And not even a glass of wine to calm my own nerves.