Anyway, pulled out a brand new razor and swiped at my legs before heading over, because I learnt my lesson from last time. Realized too late that brand new razor/swipe/my calves are not on friendly terms, as I tore off toilet paper and attached it to about 30 bleeding nicks—10 of which were on ONE FOOT, people. Not even shizzing.
Now they stopped bleeding before I left home, but once my feet were immersed in steaming water, well, the life juices flooded back to the surface, to take a look around. Seems they liked what they saw, and decided to stay awhile, setting up lawn chairs and coolers, and cracking open Diet Cokes.
I tried to explain to the Vietnamese ladies that, "I hadn't wanted them to feel my prickly hairs, because that would gross them out, so I had done a quick shaving job, but it was a new razor, and I hadn't realized that without the proper soaking time, your legs just rebel and bumps raise in alarm, leading to a severing of the little bump heads, and that's why my legs are covered in cuts and why the previously blue water is now a tinge purple, because red and blue make purple, and I promise I don't have any blood born diseases like AIDS or some sort of Herpes or anything like that, no way, it's just that I didn't give them proper time to clot before heading over here, because I was afraid they'd close, and I'd have to go another day with hideous little pigs and blah, blah, blah."
But they were Vietnamese, remember? So they just stared at me like I had a booger on my lip and laughed.
And laughed again.
Then they pointed over at the waxing station and said—
And I said, "Haha. Yes. Ha. Good idea."
Then I buried my face in an upside down magazine while they drained the purple water and began again.
Next time I'll wah.