This is me. Painfully, beautifully me. No lie. I walk around with this exact expression all day. That’s me. Don’t be jealous. Get threaded and you too can look just like this.
So my little sister stopped thru on a visit from the Cook Islands where all the beautiful people live and wear beautifully revealing clothing. She looked at me in my baggy sweatpants, 20yr old sweatshirt, a beanie over unbrushed hair, socks with jandals and gave me a gentle reprimand. “You know, you really need to take better care of yourself, take some pride in your appearance. Don’t let yourself go, just because you’re a hermit and do nothing but
eat write.” (Can you see why me and my little sister are constantly unfriending each other on Facebook? These #*&@^% flower beautiful people from the Cook Islands.)
But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I was willing to concede that yes, maybe she had a point. So I decided to start with my face. (Since I cant buy new clothes until I win the lottery AND lose 20 pounds. And we all know which of those two options is more likely to happen first.) I took myself to the beauty salon and asked the beautician to wax my eyebrows. She was a lovely petite Pakistani lady called Lakshi, who didnt look anywhere near strong enough to be pulling hair out by its roots.
Lakshi looked at my face. In horror. “Oh, my dear, so much hair-ness, so much everywhere. I vill do some waxing and then I vill do some threading. Sooo much better for your skin.”
Without waiting for a reply, she attacked my face with hot wax. Rip, rip and my eyelids, cheeks, and upper lip were hair free. Or so I thought. “Thank you.”
“No, no ve are not done. So much hair ness, it’s so ugly. I must now thread it. Vaxing cannot remove all the hair.”
I tried to ignore the constant references to my Neanderthal hairiness (and ugliness.) I had never been threaded before. “Does it hurt?”
She said no.
She was a big fat liar. She started using this thread wire thing to rip out swathes of
skin, nerve tissue and hair. All I can say, is that threading is like someone taking a razorblade and scraping your skin off. In a very methodical, precise, Silence of the Lambs kind of way.
I flinched, yelped. “Yeeow!” She didnt stop.She was a woman on a mission with a slightly demented look on her face.
“Be still. To be beautiful requires much pain. Be still! You must be strong.”Again she shook her head, muttering under breath. “Oh, so much hair-ness, I can’t belief it!”
And so the agony continued. I was contorting all different ways with my face squinched up, trying to find the bestest way to “be strong”. I’m ashamed to tell you that there were tears. And lots of vehement curse flower words. But the
sadist lovely Lakshi didnt stop. “Be still! Don’t move! Focus on the beautiful you that will very soon appear!”
Then with one last vicious razor move, she announced. “Finished!”
A whimpering, blubbering mess I got up and looked in the mirror. “See?” she said triumphantly,”Look at how smooth your face is!” It was difficult for me to tell, since I was still shaking and sniffling.Then she pointed to a nasty pile of hair stuff. “I neva see so much hair-ness. Oh, so bad, so ugly.” And then she smiled proudly at me, “Now, you are beautiful! Your lucky husband, he will not recognize you! Oh, you will be in trouble tonight.” *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*
Ooh lucky me. My face feels like a piece of sandpapered steak and now I have to worry about *wink wink nudge nudge* the amorous attentions of the Hot Man. Yay me.
Yes, so today I got threaded. And I want you all to know that I am now the most hair-ness woman that you will never meet.
And according to a (slightly psychotic) West Auckland beautician named Lakshi, I am now beautiful.
But to be honest, I dont know if I’ve got what it takes to sashay with the beautiful people. Because Lakshi says that I have to be threaded every two weeks. And I really don’t know if I can handle this agony every fortnight.