Bree used to be my favorite mogul. She's a kick-ass businesswoman and an even better mom and friend. Or she was until she offered me free stuff.
"Think about what you want waxed for free," she said when I told her I was bringing Ali with me to her event.
I'm not one to make an effort to get free stuff. I generally follow the old adage of "you get what you pay for." (See a future blog about my sister Diane and the Indiana State Fair for a philosophy counter to mine.) But I love -- I mean loved -- Bree, so I wanted to celebrate with her.
So off we went. Bree's Massage Envy is well worth your drive. The people are lovely and there's a lot more than massage available. Skin care, candles, snail poop to keep eye bags away... you name it. It's there.
Ali and I got a little bit of a muscle-relaxing treatment that's a pre-cursor to a massage and it was pretty amazing. Ali was ready to make an appointment right after the little device started pummeling her shoulder.
We had to get to a swim lesson Ali was teaching, so we only had time for one more thing. That one more thing was the waxing station.
I'd never had a professional wax job, but it seemed intriguing. The only time I'd tried wax to rip the hair off my legs, it didn't go well. I might have been in high school. I just remember having trouble heating the wax and finding that, while a bit painful, more hair was left behind than came off on the strip of paper.
In my never-ending quest to not resemble an Afghan Hound, I go the razor route. Even though I'm a seasoned pro, I still have near-tragic shaving accidents when I shave my legs. But I persist.
Let's be clear: I am truly a hairy beast. I shave my legs and other parts every time I shower lest I develop Steve Carrell-like patches here and there.
In recent years, my leg hair has apparently had a chat with my chin hair, and the chin hair has given growth lessons to my upper lip hair.
If I'm not shaving, I'm plucking or jumping a little bit as I feel another hair burst through the skin on my chin or lip. I don't know if I really feel them emerge, but it seems like an endless battle keeping the damn things at bay.
When you're as weary from the black-hair wars as I am, you're vulnerable to suggestions that you wax your hairs away. Alison, who's witnessed me fighting my follicles, did not volunteer to also get something waxed.
Instead, she readied her phone.
I blacked out shortly after learning my esthetician's name. Much like Bree, she seemed like a lovely person. We started with my chin and she gave me all kinds of great information. She gently cleansed my skin and then applied a warm goo that felt kind of nice to tell you the truth.
Then, she ripped it off and I almost peed myself. Seriously. And I had plucked my chin not the day before! I thought I'd gotten all the big one.
"We got some really thick ones," the formerly nice lady remarked as Alison cackled.
Before I knew it, she'd drizzled more wax to get the other side. I clutched the sheets and prepared my Kegels.
The esthetician asked Ali if she wanted a treatment. Ali didn't have to vocalize her refusal. I was feeling my baby-soft, hairless chin and coming down off the Pain Mountain.
There were two of us, so we qualified for two treatments......"How about your lip?"
I thought about it for a second. I'd gone into this to determine if wax could get the few hairs I thought I'd missed on my chin. I was pretty sure my lip was next to hairless. How bad could it be? And, it was free...
I asked if it would be very much worse than the chin pain, which was already starting to fade. My tormentor apparently decided my query was permission to peel.
"This could be a tear-jerker," she said, dousing me with wax. Before I could breathe, she ripped off the cooled wax.
I did not scream. I may have whimpered. I think a tear did escape.
When I realized I had three more strips of upper lip waxing to endure, I fought back panic. But I was stuck. I couldn't emerge with only one side of my upper lip bald. It would make the remaining hairs look all the more thick and lustrous.
Have you ever plucked a single hair from the middle of your upper lip? It's kind of like poking yourself in the eye with a toothpick. Or a steak knife. It's a quick stab of pain that lingers like when you burn yourself getting cookies out of the oven. And there's no cookie to ease your pain.
You hop around a little bit and curse with words you forgot you knew. You think about shaving your lip rather than plucking, the warning that you'll have a moustache like your father if you do. Caroline from the Real Housewives of New Jersey shaved her whole face all the time and she doesn't have a 5 o'clock shadow.
And that's when your facing one stinking hair. And you're home alone.
When the whole herd gets ripped out by a perfect stranger, you'll swear you've been scalped.
This facial experience killed my curiosity of what a Brazilian wax would be like. Oh. My. Lord. How are those Naked Monkey shops in business? You'd have to duct tape me and knock me into serious unconsciousness to get me waxed down there. I'll braid my pubic hair before I'll expose it to hot wax.
I've rediscovered a deep and abiding love for my razor. Sure, it might make me bleed, and it might be a daily-use kind of thing. But it's bite is gentle in comparison.
I was informed that if I continued waxing on, say a schedule of every three or four weeks, the process would slim down my thick and sturdy facial hair. Each waxing session would less painful than the one before.
I'm actually considering it. But I'm staying strictly upstairs, if you get my drift. I'm pretty sure I'd pass out if I let the wax drip down under.
Here's a picture of Ali and me with Bree (next to me) and a Massage Envy staffer who is not the esthetician. This is before I went into the waxing room. Back when I loved Bree...
OK, I'll admit it. I still love Bree. An you will too if you ever meet her. If I ever meet Miss Wax Alot again, it will be after I've emptied a flask of something high in alcohol content.
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