Beauty Service I Would Not Do

As I rolled through the McDonald's drive through to buy a medium iced coffee sans sugar I noticed how beautiful the young woman's fingernails were as she passed the drink to me. The nails were acrylics, well maintained and laced with three different colors; clear, pink and black to be exact.

Suddenly, I had the urge to run to the nearest manicurist and have my nails done only to stop dead in my tracks by nail jobs in the past. My mind began to wander and I started to think of the many painful things I have done all for the sake of beauty. Waxings, acrylic nails, facials, creams and ointments have all played a poignant part in my life and over the years I have walked away traumatized by some of the things I have experimented with.

In most of my embarrassing debacles my mother was involved since she is my partner in crime in many of my beauty triumphs and failures. She has always been the one to encourage me of trying something new in order to keep my youthful appearance but the most painful memory has to do with my mother, me and my wax kit.

For many years I was a faithful leg waxer and actually looked forward to waxing my legs each month. As a complete glutton for punishment my mother came over and decided she would help me wax my under arms. I should have known that this was going to be a complete disaster!

Standing there in the bathroom I used the wooden depressor to smooth a light coating of wax under my arms and she placed a large strip of muslin over it. I grabbed it from the corner and pulled it off only to find the muslin strip had not adhered to the hair or the wax! As painful as it was I had no other choice but to place another strip of muslin under my arms to try and remove some of the wax and hair.

After pulling the strip off I took a look at it only to find a small bit of wax and nothing else. I raised my arm back up to find a huge red irritated patch of skin, hair and wax. As I was examining my underarm my mother jumps on me like an animal foraging for an insect and slaps another piece of muslin under my arm and rips it off. I began to scream in pain and asked her just what she thought she was doing only to have her laugh hysterically in my face.

Her laughter was guttural and wild and she was having a blast at my expense. She could hardly stop laughing and blurted out that she wanted to help me get the wax off. I hardly thought this was funny since I couldn't even put my arm down and she was laughing like a hyena. Since this moment I have never attempted to get my under arms waxed again.

Source: personal experience