“Take a deep breath.. One, Two, Three!”

Those were the fateful words I heard all last week. I don’t know what my deal was with pain, but it must have been my attraction du jour. Between the piercing and my laser hair removal appointment, I experienced all the discomfort of a 24 hour long fast compressed into several split seconds of horror.

For those of you who’ve never experienced laser hair removal, I have two words: IT KILLS! Both literally and figuratively. For me, the pain factor ranks right up there with getting stitches before the numbing spray actually numbs you, and just below tattooing. A laser beam actually zaps the hair follicles to death so they will never grow hair again. Unfortunately, this zapping needs to be repeated several times to do the job and it's NOT for the slight of heart. Ugh. With the ends justifying the means, sometimes searing pain is the only way to get dramatic results.

For me, that end is complete “seal-dom”. I want to be as smooth as a SEAL without ever having to shave or wax again. Yes, so short of the hair on my head, that means EVERYWHERE. So there I was at my third appointment in a series of six (Lord help me). Forget my five-hour mental psyching up and gulping of 2 potent margaritas prior, in order to face the pain. My poor, poor nurse/ laser technician had to equally prepare herself for the upcoming torture scene with me. Before I came along, she figured she'd seen everything in her clients ranging from the typical racing heart rate and beads of sweat running down the forehead to cringed faces and little winces. Then there’s me.

Now, you may think I’m a sissy and I may very well be. Even though I can say I've jumped from a cliff, swam with great white sharks, and given childbirth without meds, the feeling of someone zapping my skin with a hot laser beam over and over makes me want to reach for a continuous and fast drip of morphine. I’m telling you, it hurts like hell. Nurse “G” (who turned out to be the mom of one of my son’s buddys from school—small friggin’ world, I tell you) has had to endure nothing less than skin-breaking nail digging, extreme cursing, and blood-curdling screams that would make those that come from the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror PALE in comparison.

I honestly don’t know how I managed to make it through yet another session. At this point, however, it’s Nurse “G” I’m concerned about. I believe she needs to be taken into CTU to be debriefed after working on me. But I ask those of you who have undergone this treatment: pray tell, is it just me? You’ve been through it, at the very least most likely with a woman you don’t know. On top of the pain, imagine having a fellow preschool mom open fire on your cha-cha?!? Cripes.

No really, though. Suffering and pain in the name of coiffing maintenance of the lower pelvic region aside, my friendship with “G” has just blossomed. We’ve scheduled playdates and sleepovers for our boys. We’ve exchanged gifts—absolutely lovely. Heck, she’s even coming to the next Moms Night Out.

*Sigh* Clearly, I have issues with pain, though. What’s a low-pain threshold girl to do???

Now, about that tattoo…