We awoke completely relaxed, a cool desert breeze passing through the van, the parking lot empty, the world silent, the sun shining.

The setting for a perfect day, some might say. Yet despite our best efforts, what followed this dreamy awakening was much less romantic than one might envision.

First, in some sort of subconscious fit for space, as we converted our home from night to day, we managed to spread our belongings across the parking lot as if it was our very own 1000-square-foot home, complete with kitchen, lounge, dining room, and office.

With our mansion set, we commenced our day, cooking up a storm on the Biolite stove we’d bought in effort to offset a pinch of the nasty gas Big Blue goes through (it uses gathered twigs for fuel instead of propane). Shane pulled out all the stops, considering what we had in the cooler, and we munched on a fine feast of greens, leaving the dishes for 'later, in true faux house fashion.

What followed was a first for me, and quite possibly, a first for mankind. It would seem the marketeers of home waxing kits overlooked the convenient inconvenience of ‘Extreme Home Waxing’ in their advertising efforts, but I, in all my Texas Tuxedo glory, had not.

I had dedicated a good 5 weeks into procuring the national park that had sprouted on my legs, and was firmly convinced at this point, that I was not ready to follow in the footsteps of hippies past in keeping the growth going. Shane quite keenly offered to help me take care of business, so we set ourselves up, and with the Biolite boiling and wax pot brewing, got to it.

This may all sound like brilliance in the making, but as we soon found out, it was not. The issues with waxing your legs in a public parking lot in the middle of the desert are plentiful, especially when your aesthetician is a bearded Texan with zero experience in the field.

To top it all off, people started arriving to the picnic area about half way into the wax, both of us half naked, dripping in sweat, covered in hot sticky wax and surround by our belongings, which were still spread across the parking lot like a pack of gypsies had risen from the sand to lay claim on the land. It must have been a sight to see.

Despite Shane’s best efforts, my legs ended up looking more like a half eaten hyena than a Giselle in full glide, but I suppose even that is an improvement. Looking back, the memory sits like one of those erratic dreams you can’t ever quite make sense of. Only the existence of these photos remain as indication of its validity.