I hardly believe it, but the other day I spent over $11.00 on a tweezer. I stood in that aisle so long debating myself in my head I think the clerk thought I was trying to shoplift. Finally, I took the plunge and threw it in my cart. I think a tweezer is a very personal beauty tool, and now I needed it to help get all the pesky,fine white hairs that were showing up at an alarming rate. My children, however, found my old one very handy for their little needs, such as lifting hot tortillas out of the microwave, and pinching each other. When I found it bent, they were all innocent in its demise. So there I was buying a newer, better one that will have it's own hiding spot in my bathroom.
I usually wax, and the first time was when I was in 7th grade. Yup, Jr. High. The year I realized, "I'm such a nerd...." It was also the year the boys at school realized that because of my very dark coloring, I had a slight mustache and reminded me of it every day. It was the early 80's when salons that waxed you were in places like NY or Hollywood. At least that's what I thought. So I went and bought my first waxing kit with babysitting money.
Carefully I laid everything out and read the directions. Back then you needed to use a pan with boiling water to heat the wax. They didn't have microwavable ones yet. I took the heated wax and went to the basement bathroom for privacy. Using the little plastic applicator, I carefully applied wax to my mustache, then above and below my humongous eyebrows. For ease of wax removal, the pamphlet suggested using newspaper to cover the wax and pull it off in one smooth motion. So I did. Except there was no "ease of removal" or "one smooth motion". I pulled and ripped a piece of the newspaper off.... no wax.... I try again, and manage to smear newspaper ink on my cheek. Horrified, and panicking with mental pictures of me walking into school with permanent wax on my face, spurn me to start clawing at all the newspapers covering my face. My hands turn black from the newspaper, and smear into my tears of fear and realization sinks in. I have to open the door and go for help. The only ones home were my siblings. I sat on the toilet seat for a very long time pondering the ridicule of brothers vs. kids at school. Slowly I open the door and with heavy feet, walk up the stairs. I hear voices in the kitchen and with a deep breath and slightly controlled panic I go in. The room goes quiet. For a milisecond. Then roars of laughter and my brother Randy is saying, "Where's the camera!!" My sister Kristi looked as horrified as I did. "Mugsy, what did you do?!" she asked as she peered at my eyebrows. Crying I stuttered, "I -I -I tried to wax and now it w-w-w-won't come off!" In desperation I grabbed her wrist, "HELP ME! PLEASE!!" I gotta give her credit, she laughed she did, but tried so hard not to. The boys by this time were long gone scrambling to find the camera.
Kristi sat me in a chair and with a tweezer,( probably her own personal beauty tool) she picked at the wax which seemed and felt like forever. It was painful, and left an indelible mark on my life. It was years before I opted to wax again. A few weeks after this incident, I discovered hair bleach, but I'll save that for another time.......
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