The “Yak-Yaks” meet twice a month in a woodsy California condominium complex. (They were affectionately named by B’s partner.) We are five women, and on this occasion, we were to celebrate C’s 70th birthday. The others I’ll call A, B, D, and E. I’m B.
To prepare for C’s birthday evening, I was searching the vast sea of cards stacked in the Rite Aid card stand. Man, oh man, it was hard work deciding. Not too sentimental. She says that she has always had more testosterone than most women, and she likes to think of herself as “tough.” But not too cavalier, either. That might seem as if I’m still mad at her for calling me a sucker last week. I haven’t forgotten the sting of that, but I do think she’s a doll.
I spy one card that might just hit her funny bone. It has two cartoon pictures that would refer to a “discovery” conversation we five had had last week. One drawing has a woman leaning over to see her face in the mirror, the second drawing has her seeing a white hair on her chin and saying, “OH NO!”
The card was funny, and it fit a conversation we five had last week. She had said, “I live in fear of people seeing one stray hair on my face, so I wax my whole face to make sure I get it all.”
On the other hand, the white hair card also might embarrass her. She had told us, “When I was in college there was a lobby in our dorm, where girls could invite their boyfriends. The girls sat on their boyfriends’ laps. One day, in a group hangout, I was sitting on my boyfriend’s lap and he looked at my upper lip and yelled to the whole group—or so it seemed—’You shaved!’ That was one of my most embarrassing moments.”
So, you can see why I had a conflict about that card. Risk making her feel shame? Hitting right where it hurts? I don’t think so.
On the birthday celebration evening itself, after the chocolate cake and prosecco, our conversation was—how shall I say—intimate. It was a conversation only women who trust each other can have.
To C’s revealing her waxing practice, the other four of us piped, “Owwwie, doesn’t that really hurt?”
C: “Well, you get used to it. And it’s worth it.”
A: “How do you know how hot to make the wax?”
C: “With practice. I put the wax in a saucepan, then put the saucepan in a skillet with water—you make it a double boiler.”
B: “How do you tell when it’s the right temperature?”
C: “You can test it on your wrist, but over time you learn the right consistency. I’m so glad I don’t worry anymore. Unless I go bonkers and can’t keep waxing. If I get that wacko, I don’t want to be here anymore.
I’ve been studying the plan in Switzerland called ‘Dignitas’. You just have to get a diagnosis of a terminal disease; you don’t have to have two doctors say you only have six more months to live. Also, there’s the ‘Final Exit’ plan.”
D: “What’s that?”
C: “A plan to die by nitrogen. You buy three things. A nitrogen tank from one place—a brewing company; a regulator, like what you use for scuba diving, from another place; and from a third place, instructions for how to use a plastic bag to hold the nitrogen around your head. That way, you just inhale a couple breaths of nitrogen and go unconscious. Then when you can’t breathe anymore, you don’t suffer the panic of gasping for air. It’s set up so that each company, in different parts of the world, contributes a different part, so they can prosecute no one company for supporting you to kill yourself.”
A, B, D, E: “Whew!”
Thick silence followed.
C: “Talking about this makes me sad. I don’t want to die.”
A, B, D, E: All chime in, “Yeah, we don’t want you to die either.”
A: “My hair is thinning on my head and I don’t shave my legs anymore. Haven’t for years.”
B: “I don’t shave my legs anymore, or under my arms either.”
D: “I still shave, but it’s less hairy, less like a man.”
E: “When I was in my 20s, I had hair on my ass. Dark curly hair. Lots of it. After I divorced, one potential lover said, ‘I’m an ass man, so that won’t work for me.’ I was so ashamed of the hair, I tried to find out about electrolysis. When I asked for a referral from my therapist at the time—a man, he gruffly dismissed my concern with, ‘So, who’s looking?’ Grrr. I still shave my forearms, so they look good under bracelets. I also live in fear that if I’m not mentally capable, I’ll forget to tweeze the six thick black hairs on my chin and upper lip.”
B: “I shaved my face today because I needed to put on liquid foundation for my book presentation, and I wanted a smooth surface.”
A: Laughing, “Well, this has been quite a conversation. It’s right up there with our fart exploration last time.”
B: We do have doozies. And us with our doctorates and all. Who woulda thunk?
A, B, C, D, E: General laughter. “See ya next time.”