Wax and Whiskey

I love every hair on my husband's head. I do not, however, love every hair on his back and ass. Jasen could grow a mustache at 14 years old. He's down right burly in the winter when he "needs the hair for warmth," or in the summer when he just forgets to shave.
Shaving days just plain suck. He swears every time that he's cleaned up after himself. I beg to differ. I have to completely re-clean the entire bathroom sink. But really, that's okay. It's every other day of the week that gets to me.
He sheds. Constantly. In the shower, on the bathroom floor, in the closet. Two-inch black hairs. Undeniably his. And mine to clean up. If the floor is wet, I take a piece of toilet paper before I get into the shower, wipe down the floor, and toss it in the toilet. The vacuum doesn't like his hairs. Every now and then the drain clogs, and I sit there with a wire, cussing for an hour that he has enough hair on his back to make wigs.
A few years ago I decided to wax his back. I gave him a glass of whiskey on ice, and smeared hot, gooey, thick wax. Over his entire back. There was no turning back. I know it's sadistic, but that was my point. There would be no turning back. No strip of wonderfully smooth skin surrounded by the normal forest. I figured if we waxed his back, it would gradually get thinner. When I shave it, there's still stubble. Who knew men were wussies when it comes to beautification.
The first pull wasn't so bad. A shock, maybe, but not too bad. After that the whole experience (for him) went to hell.
"Holy mother of God that hurt! What the hell, babe!"
"Dude. Sip your drink. It's not that bad. Look...King of the Hill is on. Watch that and lay still."
"Just give me thirty seconds..."
He starts breathing like a woman in labor, grabs the rug, and holds on for dear life.
"Okay. Go!"
Riiiiiippp.
"F#%@. Am I bleeding?"
"Of course your not bleeding. Grow up. Let's just get this over with."
Okay. I lied. He was definitely bleeding. Tiny drops of blood started pooling out of each pore. At this point, I began to laugh. Uncontrollably. I don't know why. Maybe it's because women shave, we birth babies, we have yearly exams, and my Redneck Husband can't have his back waxed. Maybe it was his reaction...like I was scalping him. Maybe it was because he held his breath with each rip, and then cussed. I don't know. I just got tickled, and he did not find the situation as hilariously funny as me.
"Jesus Christ, honey. It's effing hot in here. Can you turn up the A.C.?"
"Oh for the love of God."
I turn up the air conditioner, and return to my wax-o-pain.
Riiiiiipppppp.
"Okay! That's enough...you just pulled off a mole. And don't tell me I'm not bleeding. Get this shit off of me. Now. I'm done."
"Ummm...honey, there's no way to get it off. That's the point. We have to keep going. Otherwise you're just going to live with wax on your back. Suck it up, and lay down."
"F@%#. Just do them all. Turn up the television or something, so I can't hear myself scream. I can't believe I let you do this to me. You suck. I hate you right now."
"It's called Manscaping, honey. And I like a smooth back. It's sexy. You like smooth legs, I like smooth backs. Okay...hold on."
Riiiipppp.
"I don't care if I'm not sexy. I'm a man, damn it. I'm supposed to be hairy."
"Not this hairy, honey. This is ridiculous."
"F@%& you and your wax. This sucks. I'm never doing this again. You tricked me."
Yep...sure did...and it's friggin hilarious. 

Flash forward eight years or so. Juni was scratching Jasen's back, and apparently scratched off a mole. One of those red, weird looking things. Benign. Pretty much every time I shave Jasen's back I usually nip a few, unintentionally. Which is why he basically doesn't let me near his back side with a razor.
So Juni scratches off the mole. I tell Jasen to get it checked out, because that's what my dermatologist had always told me; that if you injure a mole, it can easily become infected and can change the makeup of the cells. Raises the chance of cancer or something.
Of course Jasen says he's fine. The next day, he comes home.
"Babe, can you come in here?"
"What is it? That bump on your head is NOT a tick. I've looked at it every year for nine years. And I'm not looking at anything on your butt. Get a mirror."
"I want you to look at this thing on my back. It hurts like hell. But you have to promise not to touch it."
There is only one way to describe what was left of the mole. A giant, very full cow tick. They're gray, bulbous, and just plain nasty.
"Ummm....honey, this doesn't look so good. It looks like an inflated cow tick. I think you should see a doctor. And it's all red around it."
"It's fine. As long as nothing touches it, it's fine."
The next day we take Juni to a birthday pool party. Jasen wears a white shirt, and sits in a high-backed chair. He gets up looking like a mobster has stabbed him square in the back.
"Babe, will you look at my mole? It itches."
"Holy Hell, Jasen. It looks like someone's stabbed you. Get in the house before you scare the kids."
The blood had mixed with the sweat, run down his back, and soaked the waistband in his shorts.
"Just put a band aid on it. It's fine."
"It's not fine! You look like you should be on the Sopranos! Go. To. The. DOCTOR. Now. Otherwise, the sympathy is gone."

Two days later, Jasen comes home during lunch and swipes on extra deodorant. He's having his moles checked. An hour later, I get a few texts. Remember, My Redneck Husband has huge fingers, so texting is not his thing.
"Carp [crap]. They want me no clothes. I got no underwear on. What I do?"
"Ha! What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mom teach you to always wear your undies to the doctor? Ask for a paper blanket or something. A paper towel. A napkin. Anything."
"Shut [shit]. Here comes doc."
Thirty minutes later he calls.
"Babe. It was horrible. I can hear the nurses laughing, and in comes the most beautiful woman in the world. Seriously. Of course, I had to have this 25-year-old doctor, and there I am naked-assed. It was horrible."
I start laughing. And them remember...shouldn't I be the most beautiful woman in the world? I give him shit for the slip-up, but really it's just too funny. It would be like Brad Pit (before he was all shaggy) coming in for my yearly girlie appointment.
"It was horrible, babe. I started to sweat and everything. I felt like an idiot."
"You didn't wear underwear. You are an idiot. Hows the mole?"
"Gone. She took it off...said it looked like it was getting infected. But she checked everything else out, and all the other moles are good to go."
"Lovely, honey. Hey...can I shave your back tonight?"
"F@%$ no. What's for dinner?"