My dentist knows what my pubic hair looks like

So with the prospect of ass on the horizon for this weekend, friends coming in from out of town, and a realization that my chastity by non-Brazilian bikini wax was working too well, I decided to re-kindle my relationship with my waxer.

When it comes to getting any beauty treatments done, I tend to follow the rule of ‘the less English they speak, the better they must be’. My waxer, who is Russian, exemplifies my economic-racism, I am convinced she only speaks terse phrases of Russ-glish “Toorn ovea, sprid here, HOLD! HOLD!!” With each sharp intake of my breath punctuated with the sound of hair separating from the skin.

What do you think? Of course it fucking hurts.

Its a sick initiation into being deemed a “NY woman,” with most men who venture south expecting to find their finger tips touching something more reminiscent of a 12 yr old than a woman from 1969. But with the pain of the Brazilian comes a sense of respect and awe and wonder from non-participators.

You have to be one tough and masochistic son of a bitch to have the hair ripped out of one of your most sensitive areas for 15 mins, every month.

Of course I wear the badge of the Brazillian with honor, except for some people, they do not see it as such.

When I went for my check up to the dentist a few months ago, I learned that my 6 years of no dental insurance left me with 6 cavities that needed to be filled. I tired to make these appointments during the work week, so that I could maximize my weekend binge drinking however, with work being crazy, last minute meetings popping up, my dentist appointments have taken a back seat. After canceling my appointment for the third time I decided to suck it up, and asked the receptionist for a weekend appointment. The only appointment that she had was on the Saturday morning when my MoHos came in.

“No problem, I’ll just make it super early, so I could go to the dentist when they are sleeping.”

You know, thinking of people other than myself.

I go to the dentist wearing sweats, smugged eye-liner from the night before, and my hair in a famously messy bun. The receptionists take a look at me and start to laugh,

“Yea, dudes, I had a rough and fucked up night.” 3 bottles of Veuve Cliquot on top of a hotel bar, with an “older friend” and my MoHos.

They take me immediately, and I walk into the examining room, waiting for the dentist.

Not only was I shaking from the alcohol withdrawal, but my nerves were acting up because I have an intense fear of the dentist. Heart palputations, tears, and the shakes are routine each time I go.

I am sitting in my chair, watching NY1, and the dentist comes in and greets me. I give her a weak smile, and barely acknowledge her ‘Good Morning’ and instead concentrate on the needle that will eventually prick my gums and numb my mouth. She rubs the numbing gel along my gums and picks up the needle, ready to prep my mouth for the 3/6 cavities she will be filling that morning.

Watching her pick up the needle and bring the pointed tip to my mouth, I shut my eyes tight, and exhale heavily out of my nostrils. There are three cavities on the top of my mouth, 5 shots of Novocain go into my gums to numb so that she could begin her work.

She leaves and tells me to watch tv for a few minutes, so that the Novocain could do its job.

As soon as she leaves, my hands begin to shake violently and I go into a panic attack. The nurse walking by notices, and comes rushing in asking me if I was alright.

“I’m sorry, I am just a little nervous. I guess I am more nervous than I thought.”

She corrects me, “No, actually you are having a common reaction to the Epinephrine, some people get a little shakey and panicy.”

Excuse me?!

The dentist walks into the room and sees me shaking, on the brink of tears.

“Get this girl some water!!” She then turns to me and asks, “Do you want some Oxygen? Did you eat breakfast this morning, should we bring you some crackers?”

“No, I got kinda shitty last night, I was feeling too nauseous to eat this morning.”

And then I get the look. The look of contempt for an asshole kid in her 20’s who ignores common sense so that she could enjoy a bottomless champagne glass the night before.

The nurses lecture me, telling me how I should not go to my dentist appt still somewhat drunk from the night before, how I should eat breakfast in the morning, how Gatorade does not count as a meal, how they will mark in my chart that I react badly to Epinephrine.

7 cups of water, calmed down, the dentist comes in, ready to fill my cavities. She begins to drill, and the Epinephrine didn’t do a stellar job numbing the tooth.

“Ow!”

She stops drilling.

“Are you ok?”

“It hurts!”

“Well, I could give you more anesthetic..”

I interrupt her, “No, I’ll deal with the pain. It isn’t too bad.”

“Are you sure? I can give you something.”

“No, It’s ok, I mean, I get Brazilian waxes. If you could survive that, you could deal with anything.”

And she shoots me this look of horror, this look of ‘I do not need to know what my patient’s pubic hair looks like’.

She doesn’t respond, only tells me to lean back, and continues drilling.

But, there is truth in my statement. If a woman could deal with the bikini wax, 15-20 mins of hair ripping out of skin in some of the most sensitive/nerve rich areas of her body, we can deal with all pain. Including having a cavity filled half-anesthetized.

This is what happens when my friends come into town, my social acceptability becomes non-existent, and I am led to believe for a weekend that the world talks like frat boys. Thinking up creative pornography (Biblical porn! Seriously, think about it, ‘David and Goliath’ Adam and Eve having sex for the first time together—fuck am I going to burn in hell. Anyway, I think it would be a hug hit in the bible belt, Religion and sex, a reminder to procreate for the Lord), brunch where we detail your authors most incriminating public drunk moment loudly in a packed restaurant, and of course racist jokes.

With all that is going on in my life, I am happy for the gentle distraction that they are providing, even if one of them is a pillow hog.

PS Thanks for scrubbing my apt, it hasn’t looked this clean since I came back from the hospital and was in crazy scrubbing mode. I love my wifey and Katie.