The Waxing Incident

I will never forget the moment I realized it was time to start shaving my legs. I was in the 6th grade at a pool party hosted by my uncle. I was lying on a pool chair playing with the newest nano/tamagotchi concoction and waiting to warm up from the sun. As I looked forward, my eyes hurt from the burning ‘fire’ that was coming from my legs. Red leg hair in the sun can blind a bat.

An hour in my mothers bathtub and nearly a whole can of shaving cream later, I emerged to show her my new, freshly shaven legs. It was then that I discovered there was a direction to shaving, and retreated back to the bath tub to remove the prickly remnants.
About two years later, I was sucked into the ‘who wears short shorts’ scheme and applied a raspberry-scented Nair product all down my legs before I was supposed to meet some friends at the pool. My mother yelling ‘Is someone perming their hair?!’ at the top of her lungs could barely overpower the pain I felt as I hopped in the cold shower and began ferociously wiping the junk off. Instead of smooth legs, I was unable to go to the pool and covered in lumpy red bumps.
It should come as no surprise, then, that I have ventured out yet again on another leap of faith in hair removal: waxing. Involving only my face, I decided to ‘treat’ myself to smooth skin and finely-tuned eyebrows prior to visiting home for my bridal shower. Why? Because all the bridal magazines insisted that I start ‘taking care of myself.’
I am lying on the table with a small Asian woman screaming ‘Oh my God, Oh my God’ and running back and forth between the two sides of my table. What could possibly be the problem? Yes, it was hot, why does she keep asking if it was too hot? Apparently the was was overheated and she had literally scalded parts of my eyebrows, lip, and chin. Ouch. She proceeded to try and pluck what was left but I had had enough. I looked like a charred pizza and wasn’t about to remove anything else from my face. Looking in the mirror, I realized she had also definitely removed some parts of my eyebrow that I considered to be just that–not removable. I was forced to spend the rest of my visit there getting my manicure with vaseline all over my face. Nothing says ‘Look at this train wreck’ more than a face full of shiny lubricant. The lady next to me was so freaked she went home and brought back cream that she swore was a miracle from Mexico. In all of the hulabaloo, I was given cheap flip flops to exit in and lost a pair of designer shoes, which they somehow cannot locate. Most expensive waxing ever.
At my makeup trial the very next day, I assured the lady that I would not be looking like a kitchen experiment the next time she saw me, and I asked that she just ‘go around’ the red stuff. I’m pretty close to just accepting my mustache and thank goodness I didn’t try the whole shebang, if you know what I mean. Lord knows I would have been in the hospital.

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