What the %$#& was I thinking?

I am posting another picture of the Lonsdale Classic of last weekend, well because I like it. I am preparing for another extended leave of Vancouver. I am heading to Nebraska for client work and hopefully some milage on my road bike, which for the first time in three and a half years of traveling for work, I am taking with me. It's already packed and waiting for the rental car to arrive.

Of all the things we do to injure ourselves I cannot help but believe the most ridiculous is body waxing. Two days ago I found myself face down on a table with a woman applying hot wax to my back and thinking "what the hell am I doing here?" Rest assured there was an inner monologue filled with four letter words for the 30 minutes it took for that brave esthetician to denude my back of hair.

I have to admit I did not go into this act unaware. I have been before. I wax, or rather, have my back waxed several times a year. Of all the things I am self conscience of, my growing forehead, my short stature, or my round girth, I wax. What an idiot. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, it hurts like a dirty SOB. I hearby retract any comments I have made in the past about the value of bikini waxing. The irony is that no matter how much this last visit hurt, painfully so, it was so much better than the first time I went. The first time I waxed it was at the hands of a woman who was no doubt an esthetician at a Hungarian Gullag. "Wait" you say, an esthetician at a Hungarian gullag? Maybe that's why it hurt so much.