The Vagina Buffet: Bite size tales of a Brazilian Waxer

By SJ Tierney

SJ has seen thousands of vaginas. On her quest to normalise them, humor and calamity collide in this compilation of short stories and anecdotes about a girl who takes a break from her career in advertising to open a Brazilian waxing salon. It's not all about vaginas - it's about a girl trying to find her way through life, love, adventures, and whatever else the world could find to throw at her. This book is for anyone with a vagina, or anyone living with someone who has a vagina. It’s not crude, but a lighter look at the female anatomy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SJ Tierney
• Release date: Apr 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476050041

SJ Tierney

SJ spent much of her early 20s travelling throughout Europe and living in the UK and South Africa. Upon returning to Australia she entered a career in advertising, working in television production, account service, public relations and media. She spent nine years in this industry, then made a career change after meeting her husband on a return trip to the UK. Opening her own Brazilian Waxing salon wasn’t a life-long goal, but becoming a business owner was. She spent the next five years discovering the wonderful world of waxing until she gave birth to her first daughter Francesca, two weeks after her 40th birthday. She lives in Newcastle, Australia, with her husband, daughter and puppy dog, Baxter.

Book preview

Why I wrote this book

Vaginas. Not everyone talks about them, but I do. I’m comfortable talking about lady bits and I want to start a discussion. I want to understand my own body so I can wisely pass on undistorted information to my daughter, who is currently fascinated with her giny.

I haven’t always been at ease with my own vagina; it took a profound sentence from my husband and years of owning and operating a Brazilian waxing salon to give me the confidence to love my lady bits and to talk openly with others about a topic that’s often taboo.

I have no medical training and I am by no means a vagina expert. But the time I’ve spent with vaginas, and the women attached to them, gives me a window into a world not privy to many.

When I first started writing I thought the vagina had two functions – one for pleasure, and one for pain. I thought obstetricians only delivered babies, and gynaecologists did fancy Pap smears. And before I started Brazilian waxing, I thought every woman had the same-looking vagina, when in fact they come in as many shapes and sizes as women’s underwear. Trust me, I’ve seen thousands of them.

As a Brazilian waxer, I was asked the same questions day after day, week after week, and it got me thinking - why are they asking me? Why aren’t these women talking with their friends, their GPs, their gynaecologist? Their questions prompted me to dig deeper into this unknown territory and as a result, I give you… The Vagina Buffet.

Introduction: What’s it all about?

I started telling crazy stories from the waxing salon at every function I attended. Weddings, cocktail parties, BBQs, you name it, I was talking about it. The stories always seemed to get such a laugh and had everyone begging for more. It’s funny how you just mention the word ‘vagina’ and people start to gather to hear what it’s all about (especially, the men).

Then, in the middle of a post-wedding soiree, my friend and PR guru, Brett said You should write a book!

After I sold the salon, my husband and I moved interstate and were settling into a new house. I set up a much smaller waxing salon at home and had some spare time, so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to put pen to paper and make my salon stories come to life.

Either side of managing my Brazilian waxing salon, I had my own personal battles with my vaginal health. I put things on my vagina that probably shouldn’t have been there and I’ve experienced some of the most embarrassing moments a girl should never have to face. I then fell pregnant and didn’t quite get the natural birth I was hoping for.

Along the way, I spent many hours with medical professionals learning what not to put in, or up, or near my vagina – they were tough lessons to learn, but I hope you’ll take heed and learn from my mistakes. Everything in the book has actually happened to me; feel free to laugh - I didn’t at the time, but I do now.

I am the proud owner of a vagina and yes, I know the correct term for the external female genitalia is actually vulva. It includes the lips (labia majora and labia minora), mons pubis, clitoris, and the openings to the urethra and vagina. The word vulva, however, always reminds me of Volvos with all their safety features and precision engineering, which probably isn’t far from the description of our vaginas. And I mean no offence to Volvo drivers when I say this, but vaginas are anything but safe and boring!

So if it’s ok with you, the vulva is going to be referred to as the vagina throughout this book.

Happy reading and happy health, SJ xx

Please note that I am not a vagina expert. I’m not an academic and I’m not a gynaecologist. I’m a girl who owned a salon and has seen a lot of vaginas and heard a lot of stories. I want to share these stories and I really hope you learn and laugh along the way. Please consult a medical professional if you have any concerns about your lady health.

For my US friends, the word fanny in Australia refers to the front bottom not your back bottom.

The Adventures of my Vagina

When I tell people my vagina has had its own adventures, I don’t mean it has back-packed across Kazakhstan on a donkey, but it has certainly had its tough times. My vagina has been painted (in fact I was once told I had a ‘smorgasbord on it’) and it’s had more than its fair share of surgeries. But if telling these stories can help just one woman realise her vagina is normal, or be unafraid to ask her GP an embarrassing question, then it will have all been worth it.

The Birthday Beaver

Andy: [just had chest hair ripped off by waxing lady] Fuuuuck! I hate you!

Waxing Lady: Sorry.

Andy: [calms down very quickly] Gosh, I am so sorry. I usually don’t curse.

-The 40 Year Old Virgin (The Movie)

My first Brazilian wax was fabulous. Well, not fabulous, but compared to others I’ve had, it was the most pain-free and the most professional wax I have ever experienced. I remember going back to the office and showing my freshly waxed bits to my female work colleagues and informing them of this sexy new trend they simply MUST try.

A few years later when I first met my husband Mikey, we were living in London. As a little bonus present for his 30th birthday, I thought I’d get a fanny wax. Not familiar with London beauty salons, I took a recommendation from a friend to try a Brazilian waxing salon in Hammersmith. It was not far from the tube station and within my budget – perfect! Or so I thought.

I was introduced to my therapist and she led me to a room downstairs. I stripped from the waist down and got comfortable on the beauty bed. I remember being full of excitement as Mike had never seen me waxed before (I needed the extra hair growth to keep me warm in the UK winter!). She examined my bikini area, said, That will need trimming, as she reached for a large pair of what I can only describe as sheep-shearing scissors. She started sculpting my pubes into a more manageable length, which was fine, but when she started getting close to my clitoris I had visions of her chopping it off! I politely asked her to stop trimming and start waxing.

An hour later, she was still waxing and my pain threshold was dwindling – fast! With only a small section to go I asked her to stop, and told her I was unhappy with the procedure. I felt bad saying it, but I was in so much pain, and after experiencing such a professional wax in Australia, there was just no comparison. She felt terrible and offered me a discount at the counter for what she had put me through. I left the salon disappointed with my husband’s unfinished birthday surprise and set off for home. Later that evening I (reluctantly) plucked the remaining pubic hairs into a more presentable shape for Mikey’s morning treat.

Oh, and for the record; he absolutely loved my birthday beaver!

No use Crying over Spilt Wax

"Oh, nipplefuck!" [after having wax ripped from his nipple] -Andy Stitzer, The 40 Year Old Virgin (The Movie)

Scarred by my first London wax-a-thon nightmare, I decided to purchase a home waxing kit and do it myself – how hard could it be? I had moved house and was sharing a flat with four South African girls – nice girls, but they were all totally obsessive-compulsive about everything! The flat was to be kept spotless at all times; shopping was to be done at the same time, on the same day every week; the puffy, coloured body loofas had to be perfectly aligned in the bathroom shower, and the shampoo bottles had to be lined up in order of height. Nothing was to be out of place. Zilch, zero, nothing. Not my kind of living, but I was staying at Mikey’s pad most of the time, so I let it go.

One Sunday, the girls went out for a day trip. While I had the house to myself I thought I’d do a spot of hair removal so I’d look good for my lunch date with Mikey. I was waxing my lip – and no new boyfriend wants to see a hairy lip! I turned the gas stove on and placed the metal wax pot on top to make the wax all gooey. Distracted as I can sometimes get, I forgot all about the wax and started cleaning my bedroom (god forbid I should keep my room untidy!). Moments later, I could smell something burning. I ran to the kitchen and saw smoke billowing from my wax pot – SHIT!! I grabbed the handle to pull it off, but it was too hot. I immediately let go. My next instinct was to get some paper towel and wrap it around the handle so as not to burn my fingers again. As I was wrapping the towel around the handle, the flame from the gas stove caught the corner of the paper and it caught fire. Trying to extinguish it, I somehow managed to flip the handle and knock the wax pot off the stove, sending it flying across the other side of the kitchen. This was not good… not good at all.

After calming myself down, I stopped and surveyed the damage. There was sticky brown wax from one side of the kitchen to the other. It was in every crevice of the stove top, every groove in the floor tiles and sliding down the pantry cupboard door. All I could do was cry and stare at the mess. I had to get this spotlessly clean before the girls arrived home.

I called Mikey to tell him I was skipping lunch. I put on my rubber gloves and got to work. By this stage, the wax had set rock-hard and was almost impossible to shift. I tried every tool I could get my hands on, and even though I eventually got it all off, it took me seven long hours of rubbing, scraping, picking, and back-breaking work to get the kitchen back to how it was before. My lip