So I’m at that stage in life where I’m just getting into terms with being a lady and the nuances that come along with it. For starters, I wish I had more make-upy stuff. I’m tired of 14 year old make up ‘gurus’ on YouTube admonishing me because I cannot contour like a Kardashian.
Contour – pretty word though.
ANYWAY, this post is not about that. This post is about waxing.
Usually I get my hands waxed from the salon, or my sister does it for me. But yesterday I thought, hey this looks quite simple, I can do it myself. (Translate to sister refused to, even after hordes and hordes of begging)
What followed was an utter chaos of human hands, wax, clothes and angry furniture.
This is what went down.
“How hard could it be?!”, I thought, holding the wax jar. Heat the wax to a temperature close enough to burn your hands, take the stick like thing, dip it in the wax, take it out, whoops, just dripped a bit on my pants no problem-o, alright, just carefully (ah hot hot hot!) smear in the direction of hair growth. Now take the wax strip, pat it nice and smooth on the arm and pull in the direction opposite to the hair growth…ok nice and slow… pat pat pat, and LET IT RIP!
WHAT THE FAAACK.
Apparently that wasn’t quite opposite to the direction of the hair growth – and things get QUITE MESSY when that happens.
I ended up with hands with half of the hair still on them (at one point, I even contemplated leaving one arm un-waxed), oh and also, mean looking red spots. Not to mention, table cloth from which I could literally have scrapped off enough wax for my next self inflicted torture session. Umm, the floor too. Remind me again why I thought this would be easy in the first place?
At least my niece got a kick out of watching the entire scene.
Lesson learnt: WHEN IN DOUBT, ALWAYS GO TO THE SALON.