<p style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>Child birth, kidney stones, getting waxed; that's the official top three list. If anyone says otherwise, they are lying to you because: you're pregnant, have kidney stones or about to get the hairs ripped out of your pores by an Eastern European woman called Birute.</p><p style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>A year ago, when I first decided to train for a triathlon, I got told to wax my legs. My dear friend Toyin bought me a DIY kit for me to experiment with at the comfort of my own home. Big mistake. After several painful attempts I was covered in wax and found myself rubbing olive oil into my skin to get it out. Time to bring in the professionals.</p><p style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>Where do men and triathletes get waxed in London? Google doesn't know the answer. Trying to get over the stigma, I asked a few friends (after one too many drinks, naturally). &quot;There's this great place I go to in Knightsbridge&quot; said a friend. A couple of days later, I was booked to get my legs done.</p><p style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>As I entered the salon in this upmarket part of town, I got the stares. From older ladies clutching onto their Birkin bags to the younger prey, draped in fur. They were all watching, and Judging.</p><p><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>&quot;What's your name and what are you here for?&quot; demanded the lady at the till.<br />   &quot;Tarek, a leg wax&quot; I mumbled.<br />   &quot;A leg wax?&quot; she belted out, &quot;ah, yes, 7pm, sit, wait.&quot;</span></p><p><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>Everyone now knows my secret. Regardless, I get ushered upstairs and they begin their magic. I scream. Searing pain, burning flesh, agonising discomfort. It's was all there. And I am meant to do this how often? No thanks. But It gets easier, I am told.</span></p><p><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>A few months later, things weren't any easier and the stares still existed. Shaving and hair removal creams were not an option (stubble). Mentioning this saga to a new acquaintance (again, on a drunken Saturday night), he recommended a place called </span><a href=”http://www.gentlemenstonic.com/&#8221; target=”_blank”><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>Gentlemen's Tonic</span></a><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>, a men's only salon. I was booked to go there for the next time.</span></p><p><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>What a blissful experience it was! Not only because it was a hop, skip and a step away from my office, or because of the lovely Maria that takes care of my grooming needs with her angelic hands; it was because they gave you a complimentary glass of Bloody Mary as soon as you walked in.</span></p><p><span style=”font-family: Helvetica;”>Moral of the story: getting waxed any other way than drunk is just foolish; Maria knows to make it a double now.</span></p><p></p>

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