My first errand yesterday was to drop off some financial paperwork and normally I would break out in hives at having to deal with anything that requires responsibility but my task was significantly sweetened when I saw they had a break room available to their customers. Tears may or may not have sprang/sprung/appeared unbidden on my cheeks as I beheld the wonder of a coffee pot with the light on, and I may or may not have let six people go in line ahead of me as I sat and savored a cup of Gloria Jean’s Butter Toffee with two sugars and a splash of cream.
And got a refill for the road.
Desperate times, my friends, desperate times.
It was close to lunchtime and I was near the mall so I stopped in for a sandwich at the food court and then wandered a few stores in hopes of finding some lightweight tops for our upcoming Griswold family vacation through the desert Southwest. I didn’t find anything I couldn’t live without, but as I was leaving, a kiosk that offered eyebrow grooming caught my eye and I was in severe need of a touch-up so I stopped by.
And yes, I have achieved new lows by allowing personal grooming to be done in the presence of mall shoppers.
I usually get my eyebrows waxed but I had an unfortunate incident with some extra hot paraffin last time and this kiosk was offering threading, a technique that had been presented as a painless alternative to waxing. I’m all about painless, so I plunked down my $12 and proceeded to endure THE MOST HORRIFIC PAIN KNOWN TO MAN for the ensuing five minutes.
Imagine, if you will, taking an Epilady to your brow.
Every single hair was being individually and excruciatingly ripped from my head as the groomer hummed a sadistic little tune. Not wanting to scream in front of curious mall onlookers, I grabbed the handles of the chair and tried to find my happy place as she worked her implement of torture little strand of cotton and asked me if I wanted my eyebrows to be bushy or thin.
“Brooke Shields!” I yelled. “In the 70s!”
Spots began to form before the eyes that had rolled up in the back of my head and I began making wild promises to God about what I would do if He would get me out of that chair alive. I thought He had heard my cry when she stopped but my hopes were dashed because she immediately moved to the other eye. I tried not to swoon as I tried to tell her that I really didn’t need that side done because my bangs would hide it but my clenched jaw prevented any words from forming.
Mercifully, after what seemed like hours, she finished and handed me the mirror for inspection. I tried to ignore the tears dragging mascara down my cheeks and the little bald spot that she blamed on a scar but I think was caused when I flinched at a critical moment, and I weakly smiled and said, “Thank you” for at that moment I was truly grateful that she was no longer touching me.
She smiled back and said, “Oh, you look so pretty. I thread your lip?”
I’d rather be dipped in hot wax.
Have a nice day.