Last week, on a whim, I got my eyebrows waxed. As you might’ve guessed, I’ve never gone under the wax before. Somehow I grew up blissfully unaware of my own forehead fleece. I’m not sure when I realized my brows were denser than the rainforest. I think it slowly dawned on me, not unlike my need for a training bra in fifth grade.
A couple friends have invited me along to their regular brow waxing appointments. Not like, “You get eyebrows waxed, me give you banana,” but in a friendly, non gorilla-hating way.
So, I figured, what the heck?
But I wanted to experience my first de-browing alone. I mean, it is sorta personal, right?
I went to the salon where mom and I get our pedicures. When I walked in without her, they assumed I was there to buy a gift certificate. When I boldly stated, “I want a manicure and brow wax,” Vivian beamed her approval. I like Vivian. She always adds cool water to the pedicure basin because she knows I’m a wimp and can’t take the hot stuff. And she’s not overly enthusiastic with the heel file. In short, she doesn’t make beauty hurt.
Unfortunately, Vivian doesn’t do the waxing.
But I didn’t know that, so I relaxed while she gave me a gel manicure. I admit, her drawn-on purple eyebrows gave me pause. Would I have to draw my own brows back on when she was done with me? Surely sweet Vivian wouldn’t be that extreme.
When Vivian finished with my nails, she sent me to a closet room in the back and went on to her next client. That’s when I got a little nervous. The woman in the wax room didn’t offer her name, but pointed to a blanket-covered cot with a pillow for my head.
I tried to subtly scope out her brows while I got situated. What I saw didn’t put my mind at ease. Did this woman understand I just wanted a trim? Or would I leave the salon pink, shiny, and permanently surprised?
I tried to explain. I told her I was used to having heavy brows. I almost ran. But then it was too late.
The first strip wasn’t even as bad as pulling off a band-aid. No sweat, I thought. By the third I was wincing. But it didn’t take long. Pretty soon she gooped the space between my brows, smoothed the paper on, and worked her magic.
I prepared to leave, confident I at least had some remaining hair. That’s when the tweezers came out. She yanked away at my newly-waxed skin and actually started talking to me.
The way she said it made it sound like I was due to be sacrificed to a volcano any minute. I was confused but responded with a “thank-you.”
She pursed her lips, plucked, shook her head and again said in a tragic voice, “You beautiful.”
I half-expected her to add, “too bad you’ll turn back into a Yeti when you leave here.”
Again I mumbled my thanks.
Finally it seemed like she was wrapping up with the torture. She sighed and held up two fingers. “You come back. Two weeks! You come back. You beautiful. Go see.”
She directed me to the mirror, and I peered in to discover she had indeed left a few of my dark brows—and a lot of pink skin.
“See. You like. Not so messy. You come back. Two weeks!”
I promised to return for more pain and beat it out of the room. I’m still not used to the new me. For one thing, my street cred with the native Sasquatches took a huge hit. And I keep getting carried away with the eye shadow. And then there are the bumps. An uncooked Christmas turkey’s got nothing on me in the dimple department.
Yeah, I know, you want a picture. All I have is this one of me trying to figure out how to use the camera on Persephone. You can’t see my eyebrows, but I think my confused expression says it all.
Does every new iPhone owner have similar picture? I’m just curious.
But I do have something almost as wooly as my pre-waxed eyebrows to share with you. Yes, these guys have way too much time on their hands, but their dogs are awesome!
Narcissism and the church...
4 hours ago