That Time I Had My Whole Face Waxed
That Time I Had My Whole Face Waxed
Waxing on about a middle-aged woman's nemesis
My friend Kristina and I went to get pedicures and one of us left with a full face waxing.
I was so excited for this pedicure I literally ran to the wall of polish to pick out my color and almost peed my pants with glee1 looking at that cauldron of hot bubbly water and spa chair ready for this tired old husk to sink into.
But I was stopped en route. Literally clotheslined by a small, cheerful woman who looked me square in the eyes, smiled, and said. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“No? What part is a no?”
“No!”
“I do not understand what is a no! Is she a no?” I asked hooking a thumb toward Kristina.
“Oh no,” she laughed. “She’s good! Just not you!”
Naturally, I looked to Kristina for support, my best friend, my wingwoman, my protector in what was surely about to become a weird middle-aged lady mom trafficking operation. And naturally like any best friend, she burst out laughing.
“She is a no,” Kristina said with a shrug. “I’ve been telling her that for years!” Then she stuck her feet deep in lavender essential oil-infused, bubbly water and sighed dramatically. When she tried to adjust her spa chair, another woman ran to her side and started massaging her shoulders.
WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING HERE?
“Come on,” the small, cheerful woman prodded. “Let’s go.”
Uhh, okay, nice lady. I’ll go. I can see you’re very eager to get this murder over with. I hope it doesn’t interfere with Kristina’s pedicure. Maybe when the woman massaging her shoulders was done, she can rifle through my dismembered corpse and fish the car keys out of my pocket. I would hate for Kristina to have to Uber all the way home.
My Bert
I was shoved towards a wall of doors. One was marked RESTROOM, one said STAFF ONLY, and a third proclaimed, WAX ROOM.
Guess which one I was sent to.
“You want your eyebrows waxed,” she told me. Like, told me. Not a question. And although I was terrified, I followed. I literally have no survival skills.
First, you need a little background before we continue.
I did want my eyebrows waxed. I always want my eyebrows waxed. Ever since I was ten-years-old and a classmate said I looked like Bert from Sesame Street, I wanted my eyebrows waxed. The Bert energy I was putting out wasn’t because I had a long yellow head and penchant for striped turtlenecks. I had a goddamn unibrow, okay?! In fact, it surpassed unibrow status. It was more like a unibrow-band because that damn thing had no boundaries and basically circumnavigated my scalp!
My mom did not let me wax my brows until I was 16, but she did take pity on me. Every so often she would turn on Murder She Wrote and pluck a few errant hairs taking over the bridge of my nose until her hand got tired. But it was no use. My Bert was determined. Bertermined2? Tweezers could not keep this beast at bay.
As an adult, I used to get my eyebrows waxed every three weeks! Even when I was poor and made $23 a month in waitressing tips, I put it all towards brow waxes. This was of course in the before times when I also wore an underwire bra and shoes with an actual sole. Now that 95% of the people in my life see me as a 1x1 box on a computer screen, things may have gotten a little lax. Sometimes I forget to make an appointment or remember I’m married to a very nearsighted man who is contractually obligated to pretend he doesn’t notice these things.
A bad idea?
I realized this was a terrible idea that could end very badly.
I have never been to this place.
I didn’t know this woman. She could have terrible Yelp reviews! I wasn’t even sure she worked there!
I didn’t know what kind of wax they used. What if my skin reacted poorly to it?
I didn’t know if this woman was certified to wax eyebrows.
I didn’t know if this woman was certified.
I didn’t know how much it costs.
I didn’t know if this place had hundreds of health code violations sitting in that little pot of wax. You know what other parts of the body people have waxed? Possibly with the same dipstick that was approaching my face!
Inside the Wax Room, this tiny human pointed to the table where I was to lay down. She pushed my bangs out of the way and went to town. I felt the molten goo drop onto my Bert and then above and below the curve of a brow arch I spent years cultivating. She was dipping and flipping and spreading hot wax across my upper face like butter on a piece of toast.
She giggled the whole time.
I saw her move in my peripheral like a lumberjack firing up a chainsaw.
And then RIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!
“Jesus cripes, don’t pull a muscle!” I said.
But she was in the zone. This was physical AMSR for her. With every RIPPPPPPPPP she uttered a satisfied, Yesssssssssssssss… like Kristina in the massage chair and then demanded I look at the tiny strip of muslin fabric to see how much hair she took from my face.
“See that?” she said, like a preschooler showing off their pipe cleaner turkey art.
“Oh, okay, yep, cool, thanks,” I said. I mean, what was I supposed to say? You think unwanted hairs are disturbing to see ON your face, try having them brandished IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE.
But wait, there’s more!
“And this too,” she said, poking the area above my lip with one hand while slathering wax across my forehead with the other.
Again, not a question. Just a wild assumption that whatever my upper lip was putting down, she’d be picking up with her muslin strips and freakish brute strength.
I tried laughing her off. "Oh that old thing? I’ll uh…take care of it later.“
But she was not easily deterred. It was one thing to have this woman assault my eyebrows, (my bangs would hopefully cover any mistakes), but completely another to grant her entry to such a delicate part of my face. If this wax and my skin did not mesh I’d be left with red bumps or a blatant rash in the shape of a mustache. There would be no denying the action that caused this reaction.
“It’s fine, thanks!” I said, remembering I was a grown-ass woman who had control over her body. I sat up, but—I shit you not— she pushed me down!
“Not yet!” she reminded me.
This was happening.
Hold Still for the Hot Wax Express!
I saw that waxy dipstick headed toward my mouth like a puddle of strained peas on a plastic spoon. Choo Choo! The Hot Wax Express is coming through! Surely the hairs on the back of my neck would have stood up if they weren’t afraid she’d come for them too.
I was so disappointed in my lack of assertion, I think I left my body. Well, this is me in a crisis situation, huh? Where most people have fight or flight, I have contemplative resignation. Stuff me in the back of your trunk? If you must. Tie me to a chair and make me watch videos of rhinoplasty gone wrong? Fine. Take my purse? No. Please. I really love this purse. I waited fourteen minutes for the salesperson at Nordstrom Rack to unlock it so I could try it on and then she stood there glaring at me while I looked at myself in the mirror. It was a very Julie Roberts/Pretty Woman moment and even though I may have bought it out of spite, it is quite practical and goes with everything.
RIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!
“Look at that!” She was damn proud of that one. I swear she put it in her pocket.
It’s fine, I told myself. The wax is probably not contaminated. When’s the last time someone got their butt waxed at this place? It’s not even that busy. Plus the wax is probably hot enough to burn off any of lingering hepatitis. Maybe you should probably look in the mirror once in a while, Tom Selleck! This aggressive, tiny woman is doing you a favor—
“And now here.”
Wait, what? This was still happening???
“Where?” I asked.
“Here.”
“THERE?”
And that’s when I felt a burning sensation ON MY CHIN.
What in the molten face lava? How was she finding hairs where I wasn’t?
“ARE YOU WAXING MY CHIN?” I yelled.
This woman wasn’t an esthetician. She was a supervillain! The more wax she smeared on a stranger’s body, the more powerful she became!
I had to get out before she seized control of the universe!
The Power of the Washington State Health Department Compels You!
But she had other plans. “Okay, time to roll over.”
Oh hells no! I leapt across the table and grabbed two dipsticks, forming them in the shape of a cross.
“GET BEHIND ME, TINY SATAN!”
Or wait, no! Not behind me! She could do some real damage back there.
“I MEAN, HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM AND WALK OUT OF THIS ROOM!”
She laughed. She laughed! Then handed me a mirror. “Much better, right?”
Eh. Not bad. I wasn’t even red.
I bounded out of the room, fully expecting a news crew to be there. But it was just two salon workers massaging Kristina who was asleep in the massage chair.
Bert is Gone
I’m sure that woman meant well. She probably held her position with the same reverence as an art restorer or someone who cleans graffiti off a mural in a park.
There must have been some magic in that old wax pot we found because it’s been four weeks since I’ve seen Bert. I’d like to say I got my money’s worth, but considering two hours after my ordeal, Kristina spent less on a couch than I did on my face waxing, so I’m not sure that’s true.
What I can say is middle-aged ladies often feel hot (in the temperature way) and if you aren’t a cleavage cooler or a neck fan, don’t help us feel less hot (in the MILF-y way.) Our bodies are not public domain.
In the words of the wise 1980’s cinematic legend, Mr. Miyagi, “Wax on, fuck off3.”
Actually, I think that was Mrs. Miyagi.
XO,
Shelly
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It’s a middle-aged lady thing. Glee Pee. You’ll get it one day.
I might be paraphrasing here but you get it.
LOL! I had a similar experience with a middle eastern lady and threading. She wouldn’t stop and I just sat there with tears flowing down my face! So freaking painful!
Glee pee… 😂