Three Weddings, One Silver Dress, & A Brazilian (Part 3)

My friend, a virtual Hair Removal Goddess, had dedicated her life to helping those of us with too much hair. She was doing electrolysis and decided, as a way to make more money, she’d get into laser hair removal as well. She hadn’t done it on any paying clients and was still learning how to use the thing.

She knew that hair removal was a top priority in my life, and asked me if I wanted any part of my body to have less hair. I decided to get a permanent Brazilian for my bikini line. A Brazilian means there’s hardly any hair left on the bikini line when it’s done. Usually just a landing strip and not much else.

So the first session of my free laser permanent Brazilian was the morning of the wedding. I’m really just a series of bad decisions. At my friend’s place, she had ice packs for me to hold on my crotch. Even with my high tolerance for pain, the ice part killed. Maybe the laser would be better? Wrong. It felt like a blow torch was removing my pubic hair.

When she was done, the entire area was almost hairless and in a ton of pain. Think severe sunburn on your crotch times a thousand. It looked like there was a disease of epic proportions down there. My friend told me it was fine.

I limped out of her place only to find out later that she had the laser on the wrong setting, and that’s why it was so painful. Right. Guinea pig = stupid.

In the parking lot, I changed into the silver dress and out of the ice cream cone drip dress. Not only was I wearing the ugliest dress in the world, but my vagina was bubbling.

As I stumbled into the church, Diva Bride was about to walk down the aisle. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said. Translation: “Where the fuck have you been?” I said, “So sorry. Crazy traffic.” Translation: “I spilled ice cream on my cute dress, and all I had left to wear was this ugly dress. And oh yea, my vagina was burnt earlier this morning.”

All the bridesmaids were lined up and so were the groomsman and one looked familiar, but with no time to spare, I sat down and watched Diva Bride get married.

Then I had to go through the whole reception. Because I was so uncomfortable while wearing the silver dress, it was hard to be free. It always made me want to shrink back. Not be myself. Every photo op had me trying to hide my body so there would be no evidence of me wearing that dress. A difficult thing to do since Diva Bride wanted me next to her the entire time, and she was in 500 pictures.

I had to leave that wedding. That was, by far, the worst night in the dress. I was rushing to get my bag to leave when this guy my age comes up to me and starts talking. It was the familiar groomsmen. Small world because it was a guy from college. We’d been friends and had lost touch.

He convinced me to stay, and we started drinking. Just like old times. Next thing I know, I’m wasted, hooking up with him. When I had started hooking up, I had forgotten about my vagina troubles. Alcohol really helps with pain relief and hurts with remembering. But then we started having sex. And I remembered. Big time. That area, at that time, really didn’t want sex. It wanted ice. But since sex was happening, I went with it. I hoped it’d be a quick hook up.

The next morning, upon waking up and hearing the shower, I realized two things. One, I hooked up with a burnt crotch and two, if I waited around for College Guy to get out of the shower, I’d have to wear the silver dress to brunch in the light of day. With the shower still running , I threw on the silver dress, ran out of the room, and never looked back. I was doing the walk of shame from my friends wedding with a guy from college. Don’t most people finish walks of shame in college?

I started to realize this dress was the ultimate walk of shame dress because no matter when I wore it, I was always shameful. Embarrassed to be wearing something I hated. Uncomfortable that it didn’t fit and wasn’t my style. Unforgivable that I was allowing this to happen over and over again. Something had to change.

Back in New York, I went to Bloomingdales that day. I opened a Bloomingdales charge card and bought four cocktail dresses. It made me ready to go at a

moments notice in anything but the silver dress.

I still keep it in my closet. It will always be a reminder that no matter what I put on, nothing could ever look as bad, be as ugly or torment my life as much. I might be broke, but at least I'm not silver anymore.