Big secret reveal here: I have hair on my face. Hair in places I do not want it to be. My chin, for example, grows wiry hairs that are stiff like a man's, are a favorite place for zits to crop up and generally drive me crazy. In my continued efforts to not look like a man and not feel horrible stubble when I touch my chin, I have been waxing for years.
Years!!
This is the stuff I buy at Sally Beauty. It works great. It goes on sticky, makes a little bit of a mess, but nothing I can't handle. I've learned to stick in it in the microwave, not use it when I'm tired for fear of losing half an eyebrow, and generally respect the boundaries of my relationship with the stuff.
Except for when I went shopping on December 4, 2016, That day, thinking I had spotted a larger size of the same product, I bought soft wax. You know soft wax, the stuff the nice lady at the salon slathers on your face and then makes your eyebrows look like a painting of saint? That soft wax? I got it home and realize it was not my beloved blue microwave hard wax but the soft wax. I thought, why not? You're grown! You've been waxing for years!
Years!!
This is the stuff I buy at Sally Beauty. It works great. It goes on sticky, makes a little bit of a mess, but nothing I can't handle. I've learned to stick in it in the microwave, not use it when I'm tired for fear of losing half an eyebrow, and generally respect the boundaries of my relationship with the stuff.
Except for when I went shopping on December 4, 2016, That day, thinking I had spotted a larger size of the same product, I bought soft wax. You know soft wax, the stuff the nice lady at the salon slathers on your face and then makes your eyebrows look like a painting of saint? That soft wax? I got it home and realize it was not my beloved blue microwave hard wax but the soft wax. I thought, why not? You're grown! You've been waxing for years!
Stupid, stupid girl. The signs were all there. I bought the cloth strips at the store. I saw all these other products I don't usually use because I'm a bad ass bitch who don't need lidocaine. I also noticed products designed to remove wax from skin. I figured this was also for people without my pain tolerance, because hey, I've been waxing for YEARS.
I was so so wrong. I decided I was going to do this before church, because a certain choir girl had Satan's chin hairs poking out to say hi. I put the wax in the microwave. I use my finger (like an idiot) to break the top layer of said wax. It won't come off the tip of my finger. It keeps drawing more wax up instead, until it looks like wax icicles on top of the wax pot. Three inches worth of spun wax icicles. I put it back in the microwave and wash my hands. It won't come off. I keep paper toweling it, thinking surely, it will eventually come off.
I carry it to the bathroom and put it on my face. It's so sticky. It just stays sticky too. I put the cloth strips on my face, I rub them in, proceed to rip them off. The little bastard hairs are still there. I try this again. For the record, it worked on my eyebrows. I break open a healing zit on my chin. Swearing ensures. The damn hairs are still there. I decide to tweeze them because they have to die. I realize at this point that I have to get this crap off my face before I got to church. I try soap again to no avail. In desperation, I reach for the rubbing alcohol. It works!!
There is a way out of this. At this point, I realize I'm not making it to Sunday School. I decide to get cleaned up and shoot for choir practice. I rub wintergreen rubbing alcohol all over my bathroom and my face and do my makeup. I go into the bedroom for earrings and realize I have this crap on my blouse. I go back into the bathroom, pour alcohol on my shirt, it goes away. (Thank you, God, for this small miracle) I make it to church, thinking I've turned my phone down. We're singing the Magnificat and Rachel texts me back. The TARDIS's engine noise echoes through the church. I run up to my choir pew and bend over to shut it up before it goes off during the sermon and I feel it... my breasts are sticky. I reach down and realize I have soft wax on my boobs.
What do I do now? Where is there rubbing alcohol at the church? Where? I remembered Marilyn's hand sanitizer that she keeps in the front pew. Salvation in the form of a stinging bottle of germex has arrived! Still trying to play it cool, I sit down in the front row with the bottle and nonchalantly rub it on my chest while singing. Elizabeth pretends not to notice because she's used to me being weird as shit. Finally, I'm free of the sticky crap! Then I notice it on my necklace, and stuff the damn thing into my purse to be immersed in rubbing alcohol later.
The moral of the story: Do not use soft wax at home!!
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