Christougenniatiko Dentrophobia: The Fear of Christmas Trees or a Christmas Tree

It’s no secret that I love a good pampering session.  Whether it is going to the spa, sitting by the pool, getting a massage or pedi, or my hair done.  I will spend more money and time on pampering myself than food.  It’s definitely a requisite part of  the CoCo Lifestyle.  Before I go any further, you should know that, while this post is titled about a Christmas Tree, it is in reference to nether region care.  If you don’t want to know this portion of my life, stop reading here.

For the past few months, I have had a standing appointment with my friend Aaron to go to Nailed in Salt Lake City for a pedicure and he gets a mani while I get a wax.  (I also feel that hair should not be found anywhere below the eyebrows.  Waxing is something that helps accomplish this more efficiently.)  Last month I got a wax and had a pretty bad reaction.  I was itchy and burny down there for a couple of weeks.  Because I have had several waxes before, I didn’t believe this could possibly happen again.  It had to be a fluke.  Well, maybe not.

On Wednesday, I had another not-so-far-away-get-away with Aaron to Nailed.  Same appointments as always.  This day seemed a bit cursed.  I had already just found out that I had a giant canker growing in my throat.  On my way to my appointment, I somehow hit the TRAX right as three different trains were crossing.  I really don’t even know how there were three trains so close together, either, but that day, there were.  Then there was an ambulance barreling through, construction, and an extended stop at a cross walk while some teenage boy was struggling to ride his unicycle across the street.  When I finally got to the salon about 3 minutes past the time my appointment was supposed to start, they whisked me away to the back room for my wax.  I was definitely uneasy when I had the same technician who caused the burn the first time.  As she was waxing, I told her that the last time wasn’t very pleasant.  She asked me if I was allergic to almonds or honey, because those are common allergens in the wax.  Nope!  Not allergic.  Totally had to be a fluke.  When I was finished, I went on to the pedi station, followed by a stop by Tulie Bakery for Tea Time with Aaron (Iced mint tea… Bananas how delish it is!)

Let’s fast forward to the following morning.  I was awakened from my slumber by a familiar itch at around 4 AM.  Oh crap!  So I ran downstairs and grabbed the aloe vera out of the fridge.  My grandma used aloe as a cure all for everything, literally would just grab a spine off of her plant and rub it on us, and the cool soothing was the only thing that I could think of to help me at 4 am.   Relief enough to go back to bed.  Well, the whole day, I proceeded to get worse.  By the time I got home from work, I was literally unbuttoning my pants in the parking lot and running to my house.  SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH!  I wanted to die!  What was worse is that my whole area was puffy and hot with hives.  I rubbed hydrocortizone all over myself. Nothing.  Grabbed ice packs out of the freezer to sit on.  No relief, only more itching because the cold was bothering my non-effected areas.  Googling furiously, I found a few recommended cures, including diaper rash cream, but why on EARTH would I have that in my house?  So I did what any adult woman would do at midnight.  I called my mom in near tears.  “MOM!  My bum hurts!  HELP!”

Well, the handy thing about my mom is that she does actually know cures for most things.  She told me to sit in a cool tub of water with a liberal amount of baking soda added and then my roommate, randomly, had something she said was used for diaper rash in Uruguay.  I have awesome women in my life.  After my bath and a good rub down of Dr. Selby Crema Curativa, I was feeling amazingly better.  I topped that off with an ibuprofen and some benadryl.  Sleep came, and I didn’t wake up until around 9 am, with my typical post benadryl sideways walk.  I don’t take medicine often, because I get really weird reactions, like the inability to comprehend putting one foot in front of the other after coming down from benadryl.  By the time I got myself figured out and off to work, I was furious at this waxing session.  I would rather have hair than this trauma!  I called the waxing place again and told them I needed to know all the ingredients in their wax.  I was put on hold for a few minutes, then the girl came back and said, “You’re not by chance allergic to pine, are you?  There’s pine resin in the wax she used.”  Umm… From the girl who loves Christmas but can’t have a real Christmas tree unless I want to spend my holiday unable to breath, YES I AM ALLERGIC TO PINE!  Really, you would think this would be something that she asked before she rubbed it all over my crotchal area and got it nicely embedded into my pores.  At least now that I know the culprit, I am able to treat the reaction better and can finally stop with the incessant urge to rub my pelvic area against a sand blaster.

Ay! Ay!  Ay!  So that is my story on why I have a fear of Christmas trees, LOVE Uruguayan medicine, and am very glad I have a mom who answers her phone at midnight.  Lesson learned, check all the ingredients before liberally applying something to your crotch.