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smokingbootIf you thought my 'horrible day' post was too much information, best you stay away from this. It's not as emotionally harrowing, but it has its own gruesome edge.
One perk I have in spades from my Scottish/Spanish parentage: Hair. Thick, strong, shiny and lots of. That's a good thing...and in terms of modern beauty, a bad thing. Smooth and hairless everything-except-your-head is now beautiful. Even guys go for it, getting their chests waxed or the infamous back,sac&crack combo. Personally speaking, from what I can tell at the station, summer beauty goes like this: If you're going to show off your legs they should be brown(ish). To have brown legs you must tan them. This entails lots of sun (stop laughing hysterically at the back there!) or lots of brown paint. But brown paint on hairy or stubbly legs will patch weirdly and streak. Said canvas for brown paint must be smooth. And there is only one way to do that in a hurry...
Welcome. To The House of Wax.
There's this Asian beautician just down the road, who does everything, for ladies only. Hair, nails, pedicures, facials, massage, mehdi, you name it, she does it for half the price you find anywhere else in town.
She threads my eyebrows (as far as I can tell threading is just taking a miniature strimmer to your brows, but the line that results is far more elegant and natural than waxing) and tried to thread my upper lip once, to free me from those soft little downy hairs that even blondes get. This latter hurt too much, and I prefered to be tortured with hot wax than go through it again. Today I decided to extend that torture to my legs.
Since the accident, my legs have been in a forlorn state, full of bruises and cuts. Before I need a goat to graze them, I decided to get them smooth. No, not with a razor - I just couldn't bear the idea of anything sharp near them - so wax was the obvious choice.
Now I know it doesn't take The Batman to work out that hot wax mingled with hair suddenly yanked off may be painful, but it just hadn't occured to me. All I can say is Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
And when it came to the upper thighs especially Ow!
She had no mercy, she took the wax up to the very edge of terra incognita, pretty close to the point where the accident had done the most damage two weeks ago. 'Hollywood?' She said, 'Brazil?' Not holiday destinations apparently. The former is the removal of all hair from the area ('front and back!' she chirped) the latter leaves a landing strip at the front (at the back too for all I know, but I didn't feel up to asking) I declined. I honestly think my poor punani would stop being my friend if I put it through anything else right now, and besides, one has to wonder what kind of being makes a living from tearing hairs out of the skin in your groin.
Beauty is a strange thing. I don't exactly feel like a gossamer clad houri of paradise ready to lure my prey into my soft and yielding arms; I'm still strangely sticky and my legs look exactly like freshly plucked chicken drumsticks.
One perk I have in spades from my Scottish/Spanish parentage: Hair. Thick, strong, shiny and lots of. That's a good thing...and in terms of modern beauty, a bad thing. Smooth and hairless everything-except-your-head is now beautiful. Even guys go for it, getting their chests waxed or the infamous back,sac&crack combo. Personally speaking, from what I can tell at the station, summer beauty goes like this: If you're going to show off your legs they should be brown(ish). To have brown legs you must tan them. This entails lots of sun (stop laughing hysterically at the back there!) or lots of brown paint. But brown paint on hairy or stubbly legs will patch weirdly and streak. Said canvas for brown paint must be smooth. And there is only one way to do that in a hurry...
Welcome. To The House of Wax.
There's this Asian beautician just down the road, who does everything, for ladies only. Hair, nails, pedicures, facials, massage, mehdi, you name it, she does it for half the price you find anywhere else in town.
She threads my eyebrows (as far as I can tell threading is just taking a miniature strimmer to your brows, but the line that results is far more elegant and natural than waxing) and tried to thread my upper lip once, to free me from those soft little downy hairs that even blondes get. This latter hurt too much, and I prefered to be tortured with hot wax than go through it again. Today I decided to extend that torture to my legs.
Since the accident, my legs have been in a forlorn state, full of bruises and cuts. Before I need a goat to graze them, I decided to get them smooth. No, not with a razor - I just couldn't bear the idea of anything sharp near them - so wax was the obvious choice.
Now I know it doesn't take The Batman to work out that hot wax mingled with hair suddenly yanked off may be painful, but it just hadn't occured to me. All I can say is Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
And when it came to the upper thighs especially Ow!
She had no mercy, she took the wax up to the very edge of terra incognita, pretty close to the point where the accident had done the most damage two weeks ago. 'Hollywood?' She said, 'Brazil?' Not holiday destinations apparently. The former is the removal of all hair from the area ('front and back!' she chirped) the latter leaves a landing strip at the front (at the back too for all I know, but I didn't feel up to asking) I declined. I honestly think my poor punani would stop being my friend if I put it through anything else right now, and besides, one has to wonder what kind of being makes a living from tearing hairs out of the skin in your groin.
Beauty is a strange thing. I don't exactly feel like a gossamer clad houri of paradise ready to lure my prey into my soft and yielding arms; I'm still strangely sticky and my legs look exactly like freshly plucked chicken drumsticks.
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