Planning a rendezvous with a girlfriend. She is at the parlor and I have to wait till she gets done. I sit tight elsewhere and am most amused to hear her say,
I think it will be an hour before I’m released!!!
And if that sounds like parole from jail or release from the hospital, the real picture is somewhere between the two. Now I’m one of those rare specimens. Yes, there are a few others like me, such as my fellow-sufferer from the conversation above. The ones that do not enjoy a visit to the beauty parlour.
For starters, it is just soooo boring!! Why would one willingly throw away a couple of hours from a precious weekend to be waxed, threaded, tweezed and snipped into loveliness? Ah, well. Okay. But fine, why would one enjoy it?
I don’t get this thing about ‘being pampered’. Give me a good book and a steaming hot mug of hot chocolate any day. That’s pampering. But we girls must be masochists. Why else would we willingly have hot wax poured on our bodies and then ripped off? And our eyebrows plucked out, hair by agonizing hair? And what’s worse – pay for it??!!!!!
You can then imagine my utter horror of men who frequent these places! *Shudder shudder* At least it doesn’t appear to be as painful for them. I mean, how dare any man crib about the woes of shaving every day when it can’t be even a fraction as painful as hair-removal for women? I propose a face-wax for men every fortnight (or more or less depending on relationship to Werewolf). That would be far more time-efficient and for a change, they’d have something real to complain about. And what of the ‘in-between’ stubble days? Well, do what women do all the time. Wear long sleeves or in this case…a face mask!
But why am I talking about men in a post about women? Let’s come back. After the physical pain, there’s the sheer mortification of knowing that one is actively aiding the movement of artificial beauty, the one spearheaded by the cosmetics industry that believes in making women feel bad about their bodies so they will pay to then be made to feel better. Every time I visit my beautician, I hope to goodness I won’t bump into anyone I know.
*Surreptitious look around*
Coast looks clear. Off with sunglasses and scarf and trench-coat.
What will it be today, ma’am?
*Trying to whisper* Umm…a haircut please.
Certainly, come this way please.
Nooo….I think I know the back of that head!!! That’s the female dragon from next door. So she comes here too? Aha…*smirk smirk*
So we struggle. Can we let the world discover that…*gasp*…we’re human after all and actually need some effort to look the way we do? How mortifying to be discovered while beautifying yourself!!! Speaking of which, I am not sure I like this new trend of the UNISEX. It is a little disconcerting to have your roots touched up while in the plush seat next to yours, Mr.Podgy gets his face massaged and a free lecture on the woes of cellulite.
What, men have cellulite too? Where? I don’t see any on his face! Oh….
My hairdresser shush-es me and warns me that he might chop my ear off if I shake too much. Which causes Mr.Hidden Cellulite to look at me in wonder and suppressed amusement. Ah, brethren, we know how you feel!
But I must end this post now and go see…errm, my friend. We like to meet on lazy weekends when there aren’t too many people around. Grab my trench-coat, sunglasses and head-scarf and there I go!