Waxing. The modern dilemma of walking around looking like you got a bad botox job and clear goop dribbling off your eyebrows and chin.
They make you believe that this is how you’ll walk out…
When in fact this is what you look like
On your face.
I’m currently toting a swollen lip and eyebrows. Cern said I looked like some red oozy thing last night after I got it done. This morning the swelling has evened out more and looks like my upper lip wanted to have botox but failed.
I am not sure I’m going to enjoy this process of finding a new beautician after moving if this is what I have to live with. I may be paying more than double for the same thing in Newtown but at least I don’t walk out looking like my face has been put through a blender.
I’m so glad I didn’t let her near my vagina! Which is now cowering in fear.
I may have to drive an hour to Newtown just to get a wax.
My poor face. And Cern finds this endlessly amusing.
But I still have the upper hand. My pit hair is traumatising him. And I’m not going to wax it. I never quite understood why men get so bent out of shape about hair on a woman in the same place they have hair, yet theirs is ok and ours isn’t.
At least no one at work has doubled up laughing at my poor agitated face. If I didn’t hate ice on my skin so much I’d shove my face in a bowl of it.
I’m so glad this week is over.