Hey kids! It’s fun with laser hair removal! I finally got fed up with shaving and went, $&@#* it, I’ma get lasered. Just got back from my first session of five, after which I’ll never need to make excuses for not participating in impulse swims again. (By the way guys, when you’re at a barbecue and fire up the hot tub on a whim and all the ladies make excuses about not having their suits, what they really mean is that it’s February, they haven’t shaved their legs in three weeks, and they don’t want to show off the working model of the rainforest under their jeans.)

The comparison of the laser bolts to the thwap of a rubber band is pretty accurate; it hurts more than a mild jolt of electricity but less than waxing. It takes a lot of faith to go into a room with a complete stranger, lay down on a treatment chair, and let them come at you with a device that looks and sounds like a used prop from a Frankenstein movie. But it’s pretty easy to stay distracted with fear, awkwardness, and visions of never bringing a razor with you on vacation again.

The numbing cream mostly takes the edge off but doesn’t dull the pain. At one point my face was a little pinched and the nurse asked if I wanted to stop. My reply? “NO! GO FASTER!!” Are you kidding me? Stop? Then I’d have time to savor each and every zap. If it goes fast the pain all kind of blends together and it’s over sooner.

The sensation I didn’t expect to feel was the mild wave of euphoria afterward. I felt great. I guess after 15 minutes of yeeeeeeowch your body will reward you for stopping being such a big dummy as to deliberately let someone hurt you just so you can look purty. Wow. When I put it that way, it sounds really messed up . . . Ah well. I won’t care about that next time I’m in a bikini.