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Weirdly enough, it is almost spring here, which means I finally got around to having my legs properly waxed.

I always do this at the Aveda school in the next town over. The downside is: students do it, and it's slow. The upside is: it's cheap, and the Aveda products are lovely.

Since, as I mentioned, even a half-leg wax takes a long time at this place, I always end up making conversation with the girls (they really are that young) while they're doing it.

"So," I ask, since, as you know, I've developed something of an interest in this question, "do you have a lot of guys coming in for waxing stuff?"



"Nah," says she, "not really. Eyebrows, maybe."

Which I could have guessed. Much as I love my part of the world, strict masculine grooming is not among its virtues.

"But," she continues, kind of conspiratorially, "they did offer to give us a class on man-zilians."

It takes me a few moments to process what this might mean. Then, "Oh," I say. "Really? Really?!"

"Uh-huh. But only if someone would volunteer for us to practice on." (she's already explained to me that the girls had to practice giving Brazilians to each other, and what a bad, bad day that was.)

"Did someone-uh-volunteer?"

She nods. "Yeah, one of the guys said he'd do it."

"And, have you done it?" I cannot help but picture this scene. It is startling.

"Nah. Not yet."

"But, who--who--would want---??" I'm totally clutching my pearls now.

She kind of laughs and shrugs. "I dunno. In Hollywood, maybe."

Y'all--I feel older every day!

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