Lacy has been waxing me for years. She knows how I like my eyebrows. I like a subtle arch. I don't prefer the look of shock and awe on my face. She also knows how I like my, um...
I made the appointment last week. No one called me to tell me that Lacy was ill. When I got to the spa, Heather greeted me. I almost balked. Waxing is intimate. I hardly know Heather. She did my brows a few months ago. She's a small-talker. "So, what are you doing this weekend?" and "Any vacation plans coming up?" I am not good at small talk. Especially when my pants are off. When I get my brows arched, I prefer not to talk as I want to keep my face as neutral as possible. I am there to correct that unruly left brow, not to talk about my social calendar.
There was no way I was going to be able to drop my pants for Heather. Except for the fact that I was overdue for a waxing. Really overdue.
I should have waited. Now, my eyebrows are a little too thin. And elsewhere, well...I look a bit like Hitler with a harelip. It will all grow back in time. I remain loyal to Lacy.
G and I were discussing the intimacy of waxing. I mentioned that I would prefer to combine my gynecologist and waxing appointments. I could walk in and have my blood pressure checked, the nurse would draw blood, the esthetician would remove all unwanted hair, and the doc would handle everything else. G agreed, saying that the doc could prescribe a localized pain killer before the hair removal.
At first, I thought this was a good idea. But then I started thinking. I hate the feeling when I leave the dentist. That feeling that my mouth is really large. I drool and can't drink from a straw and I am certain that my entire face is swollen and distorted. I can only imagine leaving the OBGYN/Esthetician with the same sensation. Only not on my face.