Now that I am getting old, my top lip is a thing that needs to be dealt with, with alarming regularity.
And summer is here - I get a tan, my hair goes blonder and my top lip is like an out of control caterpillar that's been bleached. Movember? Yep. Me. (Over sharing? Much?)
Anyway, for the past few years I have had the fine ladies of Paradise (my superb local beauty one stop shop) deal with my top lip via waxing. One second of excruciating pain, like ripping a band aid off, and we are done. A swift wipe of metho across my top lip to stop any potential breakouts, $5 later, and I am all shiny, hairfree and happy. Thanks for coming. I get it done every month without fail.
Anyway, for some reason, I decided I needed a pedicure. Random. Like you do. And the lovely ladies at Paradise were all fully booked. So I decided to be "unfaithful" and go somewhere else. A quickie. There is a beauty salon near the kids school called "Beauty Angels" which looked convenient and not too grubby, who could fit me in there and then, so in I go.
Pleasant coffee, nice little bit of chit chat, all whilst the girl attended to my feet. I had my footsies scraped and soaked and exfoliated and scrubbed and all dealt with. Bright red toe nail polish applied, which I was admiring, when I realised I had ten minutes spare before I had to pick the kids up - "could you do my top lip whilst I am here....?"
No problem, and she lead me through to the beauty room - it was all soft lighting, aromatherapy candles, dolphin music and crystals. Very spa. Thank you.
I leaned back as I lay on the beauty bed, and she moved in behind me. Which did feel kind of odd, but whatever.
As I laid back, she kind of held my face in her hands and inspected me and my top lip in a kind of over analysing way - all cross eyed and technical. Weird.
And then instead of smearing on the hot wax stuff with the oversized paddle pop stick, she starts going at my face with some snapping stretched rubber band elastic thread thingo. She was playing some complicated cats cradle game with my entire face for fucks sake?!
She must have seen the utter terror and confusion in my eyes as I cried out in a demented fashion from shock and bizarre pain.
What the hell?? I actually raised myself up, and no word of a lie, she pushed me back on the bed to carry on, the sadistic bitch.
I squeaked and she said "you need to relax". RELAX? You are kidding me? And I blew my stack. I literally had to elbow her out of my face as I got up and
I then acted totally like one of my kids and burst into tears, hopped off the bed grabbed my bag and ran out of "Beauty Angels" (angels, my arse) and fled.
I am not joking when I tell you my heart was beating a million times faster than it should - from pain and from the adrenalin from my bizarre fight or flight situation.
I tell you, I do not care who tells me it is hygenic and better for my face or restricts re-growth or whatever. That it is better for sensitive skin and does not use chemicals? I could not give a rats clacker. This threading method of hair removal may be the all new trend in depilation - I do not give a shit. It is scary and it bloody hurts. It may be a respected tradional method originating from ancient Prussia, a sign of wealth and luxury - whatever- I couldn't care less - it's undignified and terrifying.
I tell you, I am just gonna grow it all and turn into an aging hippy.
I realised, after I calmed down and after my heart rate returned to normal, that I hadn't actually paid for the torture, or indeed for my quite nice pedicure. So I sent Charlie in later with $50 to slap onto the counter, and he dripped chocolate Paddle Pop all over their shiny floors. Thread that, angels of beauty.
Do you wax? Thread? Pluck? Shave? Am I being an utter baby?