So, remember when I went in for my waxing and ended up with a red goatee? It gets better!
I went back to my usual spot and was told that no estheticians were available, but they had plenty of cosmetologists. Frankly, I’m not entirely sure what the difference is, but I know I’ve had a cosmetologist wax my face before, so I was all, “Hey, whatever man.”
And then Rhonda showed up, looking very nervous and twitchy about the whole thing. In retrospect, I should have asked the lady at the front desk for someone who didn’t act like she had to amputate her own arm. Oh, silly, naive, hopeful me of two hours ago.
It took Rhonda a loooonnngggg time to get set up and locate tools and basically form a coherent thought. I asked her to take care of the ladystache upper lip area first, so of course she went straight for the eyebrows. With barely warm wax that she was having trouble spreading. As I feared, they were a bit thinner than I like, but hey! When you’re a Wookie all you have to do is wait five minutes and it’s back.
I pointed out my problem areas on my upper lip, which she ignored. But considering that she had to yank twice and muttered, “Wow, I need to work on my grip” as I felt tears welling up in my eyes I wasn’t going to ask her to keep going. She also claimed she couldn’t see very well, which seems sort of problematic in her line of work.
Five minutes later I was at CVS buying some Sally Hansen hair removal pod things to fix the situation and take care of business.
And now looking at my bright red face I can remember why I stick with waxing. I think “hair removal cream” is code for “this shit will burn your fucking face off and possibly leave you disfigured and weeping.”
It’s official: I’ll never be the well-groomed pretty girl. But I am here for your amusement so don’t say I never did anything nice for you.