I'm comin' out

My boyfriend is handsome, and I'm not just telling the Internet that because he bought me a blender as a present for no reason when we were at Target today.

He's handsome because he's got the smoothest nose I've ever seen. I'm dating a Jew, and he defies stereotypes with a nose is as perfect as any Colorado bunny slope. It's perfectly smooth and quite proportional to his high cheekbones and full, thick head of hair.

I CONSTANTLY compliment him on his nice hair. He is a straight man who has a trendy haircut. Sometimes his nice haircut gets more attention than his pink tie collection.

But that nice hair is both his pride and a curse.

Namely, because it begins at the eyebrow and creeps like vines past his shoulders. WELL PAST THEM.

Normally, when the topic of the follicle-ly enhanced comes up, he waves it away.

"Ain't no skin off my nose," he says, and rightly so. He doesn't see his furry back. It doesn't bother him, usually.

However, tonight, there was some skin off him. Thanks Sally, Hansen!

Yes, Internet, I waxed my boyfriend's back tonight.

JEALOUS?

He thinks you shouldn't be. I told him as I smoothly applied wax to his shoulders to think of the ladies. Think of us, as we get bikini waxes, with our legs up in the air making idle conversation with a lady who doesn't know my name but knows where I have THAT FRECKLE.

He shrugged it off. He was too nervous to have me ramble on about my own waxing woes. This was him, admitting with a receipt for $10.99 that his back was furry.

I told him, "Don't worry. I did my roommate Julie's legs in college. I know what I'm doing."

That made him feel better. (Truthfully, it was just the backs, and it was like twice.)

I ripped.

That made him feel worse.

He didn't yelp. He didn't say anything. Once I got a "hoo HOO!" in pain, mostly some very deep breathing. That was about it.

The whole process took about 20 minutes. 11 strips of wax later, he was done. Smooth, like a turkey.

He was a TOTAL champ. Maybe it was the lavender essential oils in the wax. Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was the promise of a post-back-wax milkshake, thanks to the blender present.

He got through it. Soon, he was slurping on a milkshake with lots of neosporin on his back. Soon, he was ready to hit the dusty trail.

As he was putting on his shoes, he said to me, "I think no on the S,B,C. B is just fine."

"B?", I asked.

"Sack, Back and Crack" he smiled, "I don't know how those dudes do it. You must REALLY be committed. No, sir. Not this guy."

I smiled at his bravado. He was gasping in pain at the work of my hands not an hour ago.

A jaunty kiss and a spin on his heel, and he strolled away from my front door with a "I'm going to the beach with my friends in 5 days" spring in his step.

And then I understood.

I noticed the shiny with neosporin skin that was pink with new-ness. This was his neck's coming out party. This was his back's independence day.

The Diana Ross could be heard faintly in the background of his stroll.

DK is free. The Jersey shore shall be his oyster. Going shirtless (with pride) shall be his pearl.