Facing My Fear, or, Childbirth is Much Worse, Right?

So today I have an appointment at the spa at Lifetime Fitness to get a bikini wax. Is this way more than you want to know? Don't worry, it's not a Brazillian or a Hitler mustache or anything crazy. My appointment was for 7:15 tonight, but they just called and left me a message asking if I can come earlier. Gulp.

So I have to call them back and tell them yes, because probably by saying "No, I need until 7:15 to drink and mentally prepare myself," I'm keeping an aesthetician from getting home to her kids, or maybe from setting her tivo to record "Jon&Kate Plus 8." I don't want to be that person, you know?

I've had this done several times in the past, though never frequently enough to be routine, and it isn't like it hurts THAT bad. It was way worse the time I tried to do it myself. Way. worse. But in my experience, it depends a lot on the person doing it and her technique. I've never put myself in these people's hands, so I'm a little scared. Just wanted to reach out to you good people in my hour of need. I hope you have a lovely evening. And remember this?

UPDATE: bikini wax is over and the patient is resting comfortably. The aesthetician was a 60-ish year-old woman who did a really good job--didn't hurt nearly as much as some I've had. She had me change into one of those little disposable thongs. . .and that is all we need to say about that. The wax lady, whose name was Brenda but I called her Ma'am, was the type to tell you exactly what you need to have done to yourself, and she was exactly right. She appraised me and said, "I want to do your eyebrows," and then she introduced me, rather pointedly, I thought, to their head hairstylist. I left with an appointment for brows and new highlights, and the stylist's promise of, "I'll make you beautiful! Or, you know, you are already beautiful, but I'll make your hair beautiful."