Never – What is one thing you will never write about on your blog
(Let’s see if I can pull this wonderful piece of fiction off, shall we …)
Few things are more personal, and more sacred to me than my monthly visit to Yuliskiyanova (name changed to protect her innocence), my personal groomer and stylist. And because the time we spend together is so spiritual, so semi-naked, I made a vow a long time ago to never ever ever put to print what exactly happens when I step inside the doors of the BSC Emporium – A True Gentleman’s Spa. But, because this prompt calls for me to write about one thing I will never write about – I thought why not write about something I will never write about because I don’t actually do it so writing about it would be nothing short of weird. Right, do we all follow why I don’t write about it?
When Yuli is done my toes, each one delicately massaged with the softest of touches, she heats a warm gel in her mouth and proceeds to suck each toe until the gel covers each digit, sealing in the nutrients from the invigorating calcium rub they have just undergone. She tells me this isn’t normal, that this is some kind of special treatment for her special customers, but the nonchalant way she has just done this paints a different picture. These most have been the hundredth toes she’s had in her mouth today. I normally don’t like people touching my feet, especially my toes, but for Yuli I make a difference. Besides, when I’m rocking my open-toed dress sandals at work, I want my toes to look the part.
My hands are next, and we have more time to talk, since apparently sticking my fingers in her mouth is too sensual and that’s something she can only do outside of the spa. Not that she has. We have a professional relationship. My cuticles are wonderful, she tells me, and I lap it up like a Labrador. She eases the Emory board over my nail, each stroke more skilful than the one before it.
“Tell me about your middle child.” She asks me just after she blows some dust away from my finely sculpted nail.
“The middle one? You mean child 9?” I sigh. I’m reluctant to speak about my children, but seeing as though this woman has seen me naked more than any other, something seems okay about it. “Chester’s (again, name has been changed to protect my fake child’s innocence), a real dreamer. Nothing is too out of reach for him – except the cookie jar when I keep it at the back end of the counter. His sweet tooth rivals mine and until he starts earning his keep, he ain’t getting my favourite biscuits.”
“Where’s his mum?”
I laugh. “Not even sure I know which one is his mum.” I pet her hand with the one she’s not working on. “You know what it’s like being a small time writer and Instagrammer. Sometimes the celebrity of it all is just too much and I have moments of weakness. I’m a man after all. But, I have Chester and he’s taken care of.”
“That’s very big of you. Many men would have run.”
I silently nod and watch her put the finishing touches on my hands. I suppose it would have been easy to have nothing to do with Chester, but then his 16 brothers and sisters would be missing out. And really, I couldn’t imagine my life without the little guy; even if he did eat all my biscuits.
“Time for waxing.” She tells me as she helps me up from my chair. I’ve already dropped my robe on the floor as we walk down the hallway into the other room. “The BSC Special, yes?”
“Yup, Back, Sack, and Crack please.”
By now I am a seasoned veteran of the waxing game, so Yuli doesn’t even have to take it gentle on me. In fact, she knows she’ll probably get a bigger tip if she’s a little on the mean side. “My blog stats are down, I probably deserve it. A selfie with a camel became my most liked photo on Instagram and I just can’t stand it. Want me to just dunk my junk in the liquid fire and be done with it?”
She stroked my back, “Of course not. That was a cute camel, of course it got many likes. Almost as hairy as you are too.” She laughed, and then ripped a chunk of cooled dried wax away. “And that blog challenge – writing about something you wouldn’t write about. What’s with that?”
“Well, I guess it puts the emphasis on the challenge part of blog challenge. Get you out of your comfort zone. Kind of like laying naked on a waxing table I suppose. Want to flip over on to my back now?” I smiled and turned my head sideways, just in time to catch her shake her head and laugh silently.
Yeah, maybe there is a better reason I wouldn’t blog about getting waxed if I ever were to get waxed. But then again, maybe there isn’t.