Retrospective on Waxing

Every few months, I find myself there. Begrudgingly taking myself, when I can take it no more.

 

I am an eyebrow waxer.

 

This is not something I particularly would share with people enthusiastically–the fact that my eyebrows grow down on my eyelids like the mold grows on the side of my house here in Hot and Humidville.

 

The one thing I can say about the brow wax is that it never fails to be some sort of notable experience. I do not have a designated brow waxing place or person, so it is a total crap shoot as to who I get and whether or not they listen to me. Most of the time, they do NOT.

 

As I lie down, I feel my agitation already picking up when I noticed  the music selection–an Asian inspired variation of the Bee Gee’s, How Deep is Your Love, in musak. Is this really supposed to relax me into sedation, all the while someone is slapping hot wax on my face and ripping at it violently?

 

The future of my facial expressions lies in the hands of this perfect stranger. One false move and I could end up looking like a Vulcan or worse yet have a fixed surprised look with no brows at all.

 

And, I think those in this career field know this. They know we are vulnerable. And, my friends, I am certain they enjoy that fact.

 

It is public knowledge that nail and salon technicians get enjoyment out of their clients behind their back. I know this because there’s an entire Seinfeld episode dedicated to the topic. And, I will have you know that I live most of my life by Seinfeld re-run.

 

As I’m running through my usual schtick (”I like it natural“…”not too thin“…”I have sensitive skin so no oil after, please “…yadda, yadda), and the brow lady is completely ignoring me, I wonder if there is a record of any cases of brow waxing gone awry.

 

I mean, say your brow waxer is having a really horrible day or they have a nasty tyrant of a boss who has just cut their pay or their hours or chastized them in front of their fellow brow waxing collegues. Are you trying to tell me that no waxer has ever taken that out on the innocent uni-browed mom just sitting there trying to get groomed?

 

This waxer keeps the talk to a minimum, which I am thankful for. It lets me really take in that Bee Gees musak and think of how their lyrics might impact my meaning in life.

 

Not.

 

And, fortunately, she is not the type who takes enjoyment in squashing her victim’s self esteem completely as they lie helpless on the table.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want the lip wax too? She innocently asks.

 

And, there it is. I spoke too soon.

 

Of course, this makes any person think inside, “Um, why? Do I NEED a lip wax?”

 

I fight the urge to ask that, remembering the flashbacks of a time many years ago when I let one of these waxers talk me into lips, chin, and practically every inch of my face. I walked out of the place feeling as bare as a baby’s bottom and like I must have previously looked like some sideshow freak.

 

Step right up, ladies and gentlemen…come see the The Human Hair Face Mom! Can you believe she walks around with this facial hair and doesn’t even know what a freak she is?

 

For the record, my facial “fuzz” is fine and white and very unnoticeable, but don’t let that stop an aggressive brow waxing sales person from trying to make me consider otherwise.

 

RIP! RIP! RIP!

 

And there it is. The pain. The eye watering.

 

Why do I put myself through this?

 

Would it really be so bad if I didn’t wax them? Why torture myself this way? Would it be so awful if my kids’ friends referred to their mother as the Geiko CaveMom when I came to pick them up from school?

Oh, great. This one’s a PLUCKER too. And, she’s not a gentle plucker, merely going after a few rampant brow hairs. No, this waxer is like a human Epilady, randomly ripping hair by hair in a sporadic and unpredictable motion.

 

Should our country suddenly deem the torture of foreign spies and terrorists acceptable and entirely PC, I think I have a whole faction of women to send their way. The waxers would leave even the most cold-hearted assasin, begging for their mommy.

 

“How does that look?” The woman asks me casually.

 

And, then the grand finish…what I fully expect as I look in the mirror. The brows are there, but plucked and waxed entirely too thin. Sigh.

 

I pay and I leave and notice the pricing for waxing as I hand the woman my check. I will be back in a few months for the same treatment.  Why do women torture themselves all for the sake of modern beauty standards?

 

Then I think, hey, it could be worse….

 

RIIIIIP!!!!