Bad Hair Day

28 Dec

Mommy forgot to wax again

I have often cursed the person who decided that a hairless woman is a sexy woman.
This past holiday alone has seen me sustain more than one injury in pursuit of smooth legs and shapely brows…
The lesson I should have learnt by now is that pink plastic and razor blades make a dangerous combination. But what’s a girl to do when Checkers doesn’t stock her fancy schmancy replacement blades? I’m certainly too much of a stinge to buy a new Soleil, so I often go for the cheapies.
And damn, I shouldn’t… In fact, I shouldn’t be shaving at all anymore. My sister keeps advocating eppilating. But frankly,  it sounds too painful. Ditto for leg waxing. So I shave  dark, stick-like leg hair be damned.
But back to cheap razors. If you absolutely have to use the stuff, at least make sure there’s  a half-arsed spongy thing at the front. Otherwise you needn’t even bother (and will likely end up injured).
Speaking of injuries, I’m willing to bet good money that every woman reading this has at least one horror story involving eyebrows and salons.
Personally, I have three:
Let’s just say that I will never, and I mean never, have my brows tinted again. Boasting pitch black brows when your skin is a whiter shade of transparent is not a good look.
Here’s something we’ve all had – the overeager waxpot  overheater. (I’m just grateful I experienced the burn on my face rather than my, ahem, bikini area.)
This was today. By far the most awkward experience of all.Now, I have nothing against the deaf-mute. But to try explain to a particularly pissy one of them how to wax your brows poses a bit of a challenge. Picture a tiny Hitleresque woman without a voice. Now picture her hellbent on using what appears to be some sort of white floss on you. So you give in. Stop all hand signals and start vigorously nodding instead. She’s scary, this woman. If tweezers and wax can do it, why not string… Problem is, this method requires your participation. And with me speaking a version of sign language I was inventing on the spot, and her unable to speak at all, communicating what exactly I was supposed to be doing was a bit of a mission. Eventually we managed – seems I had to pull the skin tight while was aggressively rizzed off in quick, painful succession. Never again.
As if the whole encounter wasn’t mortifying enough – couldn’t they at least warn me about the communication barrier? Or alternatively, provide an interpreter? – Lady Hitler very nearly tripped over my ridiculous Kim Kardashian bag (way too big, way too golden) on her way out. If looks could kill…
Sigh. Imagine not having to worry about this nonsense at all… Imagine, dear girls, being German. Or lesbian. Or a man!

Wait… Nah. If men get to be smooth operators, at least we get to be smooth :P.

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