Getting my eyebrows and other facial areas waxed is a big deal for me.
It hurts like hell and I always ask S. (my fantastic stylist) if she really thinks I need to get waxed on that particular visit. She always tells me I do — why do I think she has the wax ready?
I don’t actually cry when she rips the hairs from my face but I do tear up a bit.
So earlier this week I had some skin tags on my face lasered off. (Readers may recall the the horrible skin tag explosion of a while back).
Talk about pain. The dermatologist said it would sting and asked me how stoic I was. If I was worried about the pain she would’ve rescheduled my visit and given me a special prep cream before I returned.
I told her I was stoic. No painkiller prep cream needed for me!
Yes, I lied. But I did not want to come back and I figured I must be much more stoic now because I have so much waxing under my belt.
But no. Pain. Pain. Pain.
It was over fast but it was one second of hell for each tag.
Mind you, it worked like a dream and I am delighted with the results. But if I get any more skin tags I just may ignore them for some time….until they get to be the size of a jelly beans perhaps!
Why was I laughing when I read this post? Am I a sadist? Redrum, Redrum, Redrum . . .
You were laughing because you are a man and you never need to endure the torture of waxing.
I think you also must have been amused by my witty description of the ordeal — not because you found my pain and suffering for beauty in any way funny.
It’s not at all funny that I got virtually invisible skin tags removed because I have anxiety about my (very slowly) fading beauty and the rapid march of time and gravity.
(Cuz I don’t, really — I just hated those pesky little things and I did not want them to get any bigger. Any bigger I knew they would get becuase we learn from the past as we bravely forge ahead to a brighter fresh faced future!)