SIPS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

So I got my back waxed yesterday for the first time. How's that for an icebreaker?

As you may be aware, I am off to Maui to be married next week. Thank you. Yes, we are very excited - especially in the middle of this brutal global cooling spell.

In preparing for our Hawaiian adventure, it was suggested I consider a simple spa treatment that would give my back a more "youthful" look. I have discovered that, as the hair mob gets older, its dying members join the follicle relocation program. Hair that had once thrived on the top of my head get old and head south, putting down new roots in warmer climes. The result is a receding hairline and awkward patches of fur and stray hair sprouts all over my back, neck, and arms. Just when I got comfortable with the idea of never taking my shirt off at another baseball game, I book a Destination Wedding to the Hawaiian Isles. So off to spa I went last night to try something new.

Let me begin by saying that it did not hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would. We've all seen that scene in "The 40 Year-Old Virgin" where Steve Carrell has his chest hair waxed off. A back wax is nothing like that. Don't get me wrong - it was not what I would consider a pleasant experience. But it wasn't quite waterboarding with the Cheneys, either.

If you've ever thought about getting a back wax, here's what you can expect. I showed up for my appointment and checked in at the reception counter. The hair removal specialist walked me back to a private room where I was politely instructed to remove my shirt and lie face down on a massage table. She left the room for a couple minutes so I could watch myself undress slowly in a very large mirror while calming nature sounds piped into the room. After getting a good look at myself in the mirror, I put my pants back on and spread out on the table - face down. My waxpert returned, made some idle chit chat to put me at ease, then began smearing a hot sticky liquid on my back with a paint brush. This was not unpleasant.

Then she put the brush down, pressed a cloth of some kind hard into the warm, wet wax and gave a rip like she was starting a lawnmower. This didn't really hurt all that much, either. She pushed another cloth into my back and tore it off again. That one hurt a little more. The third time I started to figure it out. It only hurt when she pulled out hair. That third one had some hair. My eyes watered suddenly. My voice broke as I spoke. She kept pressing and ripping. And then suddenly it ended. Round one, that is. She dipped the brush back into the wax and started applying it again. I gripped the table and waited.

RIP!

RIP!

RIP!

When she was done, she treated my back with some oil and said I was free to towel off and get dressed again. The whole thing lasted about 12 minutes and cost $45 (not including tip). I got home and showed the 7-year-old H Man my back.

"Check it out, my man. My back is smoother than yours!"

He was totally jealous. And then he pointed at my chest and told me they had forgotten about the front.

"No way, dude. This here is the difference between a boy like you and a man like me."

He thought about that for a second, stuck out his tongue at me and said. "You're kooks. And I'm almost taller than you anyway." Sassy kid, the H Man.

Anyhow - there it is. The back wax. Not as bad as I thought it would be...and the waxpert tells me it gets easier the second time because the hair grows back in much finer. I can hardly wait.