To the makers of at-home wax kits, I have a question.
Who didn’t love you as a child?
Y’all I bought my first ever wax kit this week.
When I say first-ever, I mean Ev-eeerrr.
The day before my wedding, when I was in my late 20s and looking the best I ever would, all of the bridesmaids and I were getting our nails done and the lady kept saying, “I do your eyebrow,” (which I assumed meant BOTH) I emphatically declined because I am certain I’d somehow have ended up walking down the aisle looking surprised or dubious.
So I’ve never had anything waxed.
Nada.
Nothing.
Not a brow hair.
Not a leg.
Not even those pesky toe hairs (don’t lie because they’re there).
So, a few weeks ago I wrote about discovering a thick, coarse rogue hair exploding out of the side of my chin while in the line at Starbucks.
I was just minding my own business, living my best 38 year old life and the sun shone on it, sparkling like a gem in a dark cave…Only the cave was my haggard old face and the gem was this wild hair springing up as if I were nursing home-ready!
Naturally, at the terrified jaw-dropping expression of college onlookers, I plucked that bad boy and told my chin to get it’s sh*t together because we aren’t premenopausal yet and I do NOT have time for this.
In a preemptive strike against this horrific side effect of aging, I bought an at-home wax kit.
*Note: silver hair, laugh lines, and bellies that remind us of childbirth…I’m HERE. FOR. IT.
But facial hair that should be on a cartoon witch!? Not today, Satan.
I waited until the kids were hiking with their dad and I had an empty house in which to hide my apparently necessary new skin routine and got out the box.
Yellow.
Happy.
Sun-shiney.
And full of LIES.
Y’all. Organic sugar wax is nothing like it advertised.
I looked like the episode of Friends when Joey goes to the esthetician.
It was all over every single place except where I needed it and I couldn’t stop cracking up at myself.
I mean, there I was. In the bathroom that I decorated and pay for like a real, live grown-up. And I was covered in a substance so sticky it couldn’t possibly be made in nature.
All for a chin hair.
If you’d have asked me six innocent months ago if I’d be battling chin hairs before 40, I’d have laughed in my youthful innocence.
But that was then.
And here we are.
I maturely shelved the box of tongue depressors and cloth strips as if I’ll EVER try that again, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my car tweezers are my BFF now and we shall not be separated.
So, to the angel babes who are still in their 20s looking like you just stepped off of a Teen Beat magazine cover, prepare yourselves.
The chin hairs will come for you.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But they WILL come.
Take it from me. Don’t buy at home wax kits unless you are masochistic or really hate yourselves. Pay the lady at the salon or get yourself a high quality pair of car tweezers (or purse tweezers, of you prefer).
You have been warned, friends.
*Raises car tweezers in solidarity to those over 35.
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*Raises car tweezers in solidarity to those over 35.
