Female facial hair.
I mean why? Why does it just appear? What hormonal changes make something so pointless and annoying happen, just at an age when you probably really don’t need to be getting any more despondent about the degeneration of your carcass? It’s just plain cruel if you ask me.
It is of course entirely possible that the top lip hair had been there all along, but I had been either too confident or too preoccupied with other stuff to notice or care, but either way its here now and boy did I care!
I first noticed it a few weeks before my sons wedding. I’ve been blessed with a reasonably good complexion and never really taken much notice of myself close up until that day, so as I moved closer to the mirror than I had done in years I was infuriated to discover I had the makings of a fine moustache. And the worst bit was that no bugger had told me! How long had I been sporting this thing, who had noticed, and probably sniggered, and more to the point, how was I to get rid of it?
Knowing sweet FA about this kind of thing a quick bit of google research and a panicked dash to a chemist found me back in front of my mirror within half an hour clutching a pink box sporting the words Veet. Now bear in mind that I was a serious novice when it came to this sort of stuff, so I had to carefully read the instructions. This is easy, thought I. How wrong I was. Smoothing that wax on my upper lip was easy, for sure. Enduring the pain as I swiftly tore it off however really wasn’t. Bearing in mind I have given birth naturally four times, the initial sear of pain I experienced was incomparable.
Tears sprang from my eyes, my bladder twitched and my heart pounded. WTF did I just do to myself? I looked in the mirror, half expecting to see half my face missing, but instead all I saw was……exactly what I had seen one minute prior to inflicting agony upon my face. I examined the devilish piece of waxy paper, expecting to see tufts of the hideous facial hair, but instead I was able to count four distinct hairs. Just four. I was puzzled. Had I done something wrong? Pulled in the wrong direction maybe? Not warmed the wax enough? I was sure I had done it right. And then the horrible truth hit me. I suspected this was not a one off thing. This was to be repetitive process, time consuming, repetitive and masochistic. I was not wrong.
Half an hour later, and after ripping my face off at least another ten times I was done. Trembling, I surveyed the debris on my used wax strip. I was satisfied to see that there was indeed the evidence of hair transferred from face. As I tentatively looked in the mirror I was dismayed to see I was still sporting a moustache. Admittedly not one of the hair variety, but a big red unattractive welt which spread like a grimace from one corner of my mouth to the other. I looked like I’d been dreamt up by Stephen bloody King after a particularly bad dream.
In the 24 hours that followed my initial waxing experiment several things occurred to me. It is advised to leave several days between waxing and allowing anyone near you with a camera. Warn your neighbours first as to what you are about to do as there may be some screaming, and the last thing you need is the police showing up to further add to your embarrassment. Clear your diary for a day and have wine on standby. It doesn’t take away the pain but it can help.
And then, several days later, when the angry redness was starting to subside and I finally looked less like I’d been slapped across the face by an octopus tentacle a huge realisation hit me. Women did this all the time. Like regularly! And not just to the tiny area on their upper lip, but their entire legs, and even worse, their delicate intimate areas too! Regularly!! Seriously, just writing this is making me cross my legs in imagined pain. Tough I may be in some aspects of my life, but when it comes to waxing I’ve got nothing on you ladies. Hats off to you all, you are awesome and I am full of serious admiration at your pain thresholds.
And that’s where I’m going to stay, right over here on my side of the waxy fence. I remain in admiration at the pain women can endure in the pursuit of beauty, but have decided that I am just too much of a coward to ever put myself through that again.
My legs can continue to make do with the lady shave treatment (summertime only) and I’ve grown rather fond of my moustache and have decided it can stay.