I believe Bridget said it best:*
She is true about all of those things, but today I'm just going to write about hair removal. Which, for a fuzzy, could-be-in-the-musical-Cats person like me, is enough to make up several blog posts. It's a good thing that I'm blond(ish), except if the light hits me the right way I resemble an angora puppet. This is why, in a fit of high-maintenancessity, I bought a CityDeals voucher good for up to 12 sessions of laser hair removal on my lip and chin. I know one day a full goatee is in my future, but I would like to stave this off as long as possible.
My fourth session was this morning, and the state in which I rushed to the appointment just confirmed to me the necessity of such vain extravagance. While brushing my teeth beforehand (the one act of hygiene I performed today, you are WELCOME, hair laser removal technician) and also trying to fend off the Dark Lord who had just realized that oh my gosh Mom has a teething toy that also buzzes and when will it be his turn to play with it, I noticed something. Due to the natural light coming in from the bathroom window, I appeared to be wearing the forearm of a scrawny Scandinavian male. Awesome.
Also? I kind of hate that the only mirror that lets me know just how very overdue I am for some eyebrow management is the one in my car, on the visor, while I am tweezerless and on my way to something like work where I will frighten the children with my Muppet caterpillar eyebrows. Or to the laser hair removal place where everyone can raise their own well-manicured brows at each other and wonder who this woman is and why does she not groom herself.
I had to prep for today's session by taking ibuprofin and also by filling a baggie with frozen peas so I could smash the thing to my face to try and numb the area while I drove to the salon. Normally the whole procedure lasts less than 5 minutes and only stings a bit in the most sensitive spot, like on the center of your upper lip. But last time was so very painful that I was twitching and squealing like a person being stuck in the lip with hot needles. (Am still unconvinced that's NOT what was happening.) I kept telling the technician I needed her to turn it down, that this was much, much, more painful than usual, and I think she thought I was maybe being a big ol' wuss. Also, I don't think she really turned it down. I was squeezing back tears. Unmedicated transitional back labor didn't make me cry, but this girl with her laser gun did.
Today, though, was better. I don't know if it was the drugs, the frozen peas, or that I had a different technician today who did not come to work straight from Hell, but I am grateful.
Anyone care to share the price you have paid for beauty? (Or, you know, maybe for just not-caveperson-ness?)
*Oh my gosh there are actual BJD study guides you can buy on Amazon. Seriously? Does that mean that there is, like, a class on it now? Because I would take that class. Or teach it. Either way.