I got my brows waxed today!
Wait, that doesn’t quite say it loud and proud enough. Let’s try it again:
I needed to get my brows waxed today! And I did!
Yes, for the first time in more than six months I was looking a bit eyebrillo-ish and it was time for some groomin’. I went to the place I’ve gone to for years, where a sweet little Vietnamese woman always does a meticulous job. She didn’t recognize me when I walked in, and it wasn’t until I laid down and told her my brows had fallen out during cancer treatment that she realized who I was. After that, she couldn’t stop apologizing. I’m all YOU BETTER APOLOGIZE BECAUSE ARE THE YOU THE ONE WHO GAVE ME CANCER? DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!!
That’s not altogether true; what I said was one of those pat responses like, “well, it’s almost done” … “I’m lucky” … “it could be so much worse” … blah blah blah. I’ve learned those are a lot easier than accusations with some people, especially people who are just about to rip out your hair by the root.
And getting a brow wax for the first time after six months of not needing brow waxes, I was surprised at how much it friggin’ HURT. I was nowhere near crying, but my eyes did water a little. Same thing happens at the dentist. When she was done and I sat up, both my eyes spilled over and I looked like a big ol’ crybaby even though I wasn’t crying at all. But the waxer lady said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I wasn’t about to bother explaining myself, since she understands very little English anyway, so I accused her of giving me cancer again and then I looked in the mirror and she had done all that waxing but somehow managed to give me a unibrow!
Alright, that’s not altogether true either; I assured her I was fine, thanked her for giving me two separate brows, and walked out to the front to pay. She rang me up at half the usual brow wax rate—‘twas the very definition of a pity wax, I guess—and then insisted on giving me a big hug.
Friends, if you ever want to make your aesthetician cry and give you less expensive brow waxes and become suddenly affectionate, just get cancer.
(Psssst… it’s so not worth it.)
I was going to take a picture of my newly groomed eyebrillos, but they’re all red and splotchy and slathered in Bag Balm right now. Maybe tomorrow. But here’s a hint of what I look like. It’s somewhere between this:
Use your imagination.
Oh, and don’t worry, I won’t be doing hair watches any lower on my body. Noggin and brows, maybe lashes. That’s it. Promise.