Since I had thirty minutes to spare between my late lunch with Mr. Taylor and time to pick the boy up from school today, I decided to treat myself to an eyebrow waxing.
My eyebrows aren't exactly wild or anything. Quite to the contrary, I rarely have to do anything to them at all. Once in a while I'll notice a stray hair or two and go have them tended to. "Once in a while" meaning about three times a year .. maybe.
The last couple times I've gone to the salon, I've allowed the technician to wax my upper lip too, mainly because they always seem disappointed if I tell them "no" when they ask.
So as I lowered myself onto the table today I decided to be generous. I told the young woman with the wax to do my eyebrows and upper lip. She smiled and nodded, then proceeded to begin the process of torturing me to just short of the point of tears.
Rip ... Rip... RIP.... She methodically applied the boiling hot wax, then the cloth and yanked it away, surely pulling each tiny hair out by the roots as she worked.
Just when I thought she was finished, she pointed to my chin, indicating I needed some work there as well.
I protested briefly but before the words, "No, I don't ... think ..." could escape my lips, she was already slapping on the wax. As God is my witness, she smeared the thick bubbly concoction all the way under my chin and down part of my neck.
Do you have any idea how tender the area between the chin and the neck is? I didn't ...until today.
R-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-P!!!
OUCH!
The technician giggled as she continued to the other side of the table and slapped the sticky lava like substance on the side of my face. Yes ... my FACE!
RIIIIIIIIIP!
As much as I would have liked, I couldn't stop her then. God forbid I leave there hairy on one side and not the other.
And thus she proceeded until she was content that my face and neck were as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom. Feeling that any protest would have been in vain, I allowed her to go on. She was, after all, the one with the hot wax at her disposal.
Then, to my horror, I realized she was aiming next for my forehead!
Now, I suppose it's possible that I had a few microscopic hairs on my chin, but on the sides of my face and my forehead? I think not!
"No, thank you!" I said, and sat upright so she would no longer have the postural advantage over me.
The terror in my eyes must have been convincing, because she willingly put down her weapons and allow me to leave the table.
Looking in the mirror she so graciously handed me, I noticed looked like I'd fallen face first into a fire ant colony at dinner time. "Just a little red ..." She assured me with a deceptively sweet smile.
"Just a little red?" Surely if I'd really had facial hair everywhere there were now bright red splotches, someone would have mentioned it to me. Or, should I feel embarrassed to realize I've been walking around all this time unknowingly looking like a circus freak?
I don't want to know. I'll chalk the experience up to lessons learned and move on. In this case, ignorance could very well be a beautiful thing.
Becky Taylor
11-3-09
1 comment:
I think we ought to start a movement to make female facial hair fashionable. Perhaps even market an enhancement product called "Just for Women." Until then, I just pretend my mustache doesn't exist. It's invisible, that's what it is. I'm not going anywhere near those hot-wax-torture people. :)
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