Nude arms

In anticipation of wearing a sleeveless gown on Friday, I went to Boudoir last week to have my arms waxed.
“It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?” I whinged to T.
“Not at all,” she replied. “Of course my pain tolerance is high…”
“Well, my arms are nervous.”
But it hardly hurt a bit, just as T said. Marilyn chattered away to me while she smoothed on the warm and sticky wax, smoothed a gauze strip over it and ripped the hairs from their sockets.
My arms were a mass of tiny red prickles for a couple of hours, then subsided into normal looking–but completely denuded–skin. Now, a few days later, I can see new hairs just beginning to peek into the air.
Why wax? Japanese women often shave their arms; there are special-purpose safety straight razors sold at every drugstore in the country. As I’ve aged, my body hair has darkened and gotten denser, so my usually furry arms seemed too bushy for polite company. The gala is a good excuse for a personal hygiene experiment.
Will I do it again? Maybe in the summer…