This is surprisingly about, yes you guessed it, naked women. I'm going to try to de-mystify the mystery that is an only womens parlour or the only women section of unisex parlours. Here I am talking about those that don't have sepearet cubicles/ rooms for each person.
There are basically 2 types of women in a parlour and no, it is not a completely clothed woman and one that is, well, not. The two types are actually based on the reaction of women when they are half n.a.k.e.d, in towels and robes.
If any of you men need to take a break, go for a walk, please feel free to at this time.
Anyways, back to the parlour.
One type of woman is the type that thinks...well...now that an absolute strange woman has seen all the excess fat in their body, there is not much to hide anyways. This type will normally get very talkative and will want to discuss all her life with you right there, while both of you are sitting or lying down in awkward positions.
Now if you are the other type of women, who will prefer not to make eye contact with other skimpily dressed women, who have seen areas of your body that are not made for public consumtion, this can extremely disconcerting.
Typically you would be trying very hard to feign interest in the glossy in front of you which describes in detail how katrina kaif takes care of her skin, while some vindictive lady pours burning hot molten wax on you and devices new methods of soothing your skin before surprise! yanking off the wax strip. So, you are faking this concentrated reading exercise. (We women, are good are faking quite a few things, as you can see.) At the same time you are squeezing your eyes shut half the time to block out the pain.
The pain here is the waxing pain, and not the lady nearby telling you about her issues.
As you might have guessed by now, I fall in the category of "i'll pretend i can't see your thigh and you pretend not to see me". So I absolutely hate it when other women nearby will stare at you when you are undergoing some procedure.
Look, I am not sympethetic by nature. And I am not a good listener. Especially not when I am lying down in a robe, at my most vulnerable while some woman pours hot wax on my inner thigh. Small tip: Any time hot wax is being poured on my skin or hair is being pulled out by its roots from it, it's not a good time to talk to me about your business or your son's school. Honestly I am not listening.
This would also not be a good time to call me. You can SMS me. Yes. I can SMS back comfortably. It distracts me. its good. But no calls. Even if you are getting married and call to tell me, our conversation from my end will be like this: oh! con--aaaa--gratu--aaa-lations. I am -- oww-- so happyyyyyyy--eeeee--- for you. Look--hey, thats hot-- can I call you later--HAAAUUUTT---i'm in the middle of something.
Please hang up at this time. What you hear after this, will not be pretty.
I know I haven't written too much about the type who likes to talk, but thats because I don't understand the urge. Its probably because you trying not to think of the parlour lady, who is ever so gently spreading that golden wax on your skin and then patting in onto the skin, with a sense of nurturing that borders on a mother putting a child to sleep...shes lulling you into the sense of security. However after years of experience you know, its the calm before the yank. So you're probably talking to keep your mind off it.
But seriouslly, read about what is troubling teenaged girls today.
I...am beyond polite conversation.