Waxing, in the name of beauty

In the name of self improvement, I busied myself this past week with various tasks involving beauty and fashion. I put away all my winter clothing, organized my closet by color, and tried on things for size. It wasn’t unlike shopping in my own closet. I’m presently out of excuses for not getting up and dressing myself in the morning. “I don’t have anything to wear”, will not cross these lips.

I “treated” myself to a full body wax. Yeah, I use treated in this context with some amount of hesitation. I imagined how luxurious it would be going into the warmer season free of the task of shaving my legs and armpits. I was somewhat apprehensive of the whole experience, as I’ve never been professionally waxed before. With heart pounding and inexplicable sweating, I laid myself bare on a table covered with crisp, fresh paper. I was unprepared for the uncontrollable knee jerks and sheer shock of having hair ripped in mass by the roots. I wondered for the first time, if aestheticians ever sustain any injuries from their jobs. No amount of deep breathing seemed to divert my attention from the stinging caused in some areas. My upper lip was included as part of the treatment. I don’t have a particularly hairy lip, but I figured, why not? The immediate result was a flaming red lip followed by a breakout of little white bumps (days later, they are finally subsiding).

Was it worth it? Contrary to my above description, any remorse I had was fleeting. I had a very professional aesthetician and I’m currently appreciating silky smooth legs (but I think I’ll pass on the upper lip next time).