Whole Face? Never Again.

Who are they kidding? This is TORTURE. Misleading photo found here. 

Yesterday, as per my usual routine before traveling, I presented myself to an unfortunate young lady at the nail salon. Poor thing. I asked her to give me a pedicure, and also to wax my eyebrows, both of which are rather difficult tasks.

They would be less problematic if I were willing to present myself at the salon more often. However, there I was, and she was very diplomatic and capable.

How often you moisturize? She asked delicately as she began filing away at my rough heels.

I pretended to be very very engrossed in my magazine.

She tapped me on the left big toe. Lotion. Every day, she said then playfully wagged her index finger at me.

I promised that I would.

Then she indicated that I should follow her to a partitioned-off area. I carefully followed her, walking in that peculiar way one does when one's toes are divided by pink foam toe dividers and freshly enameled.

I would call it a waddle in my case. Others may do it more gracefully.

As I lay back on the table, my technician leaned over my face and scrutinized what she saw.

Just eyebrow? she queried.

Yup.

You no want the rest hair removed?

What?

Here. Look. She took a makeup brush and dusted my face with powder, then handed me a mirror. I think maybe you need whole face.

Whole face? I scanned my powdered face in the mirror under bright overhead lights.

Ewwwwww. Why. Hasn't. Anyone. Told. Me. That. I. Have WHISKERS?!?

I looked with astonishment at the tech, who matter-of-factly took the mirror from my hands and firmly stated, Whole. Face.

So I had my first experience with a WHOLE FACE waxing. I'll spare y'all the gruesome details, but for those who haven't had the pleasure, this involves a great deal of hot, sticky wax being slathered everywhere on your face. Everywhere. Then there's something about fabric being stuck to the wax, and followed by a tortuous motion in which the fabric and hair is RIPPED OFF YOUR FACE. I anticipate having recurring nightmares about the whole nostril thing.

:: shiver ::

I considered bailing on the whole experience about a third of the way through, but decided that having part of my face looking really stupid would actually be worse than having all of my face looking stupid.

I can't explain my logic.

About an hour later, stunned, I waddled out from behind the partition, still sporting the pink toe foam thingies, but also a bright red face which although thoroughly coated with soothing oil, was (with the exception of perfectly sculpted eyebrows) completely hair free, but looking as cherry-red as though I had fallen asleep under a tanning lamp. My skin burned and stung and prickled from hairline all the way down underneath my double chin.

I paid in a daze, and left hoping that I wouldn't meet anyone that I knew on the way home.

Guys. It's going to take a massively life changing and important event and a two week recovery period to ever get me back on the WHOLE FACE table. Ever again.

This slapped-cheek look had better get seriously better before I show my face to the relatives back in the midwest. The little technician promised me that it would look just wonderful and so smooth! in just a few hours, but at this writing, I still look very red and very stupid.

Dang. I think my upper lip had all of the nerves pulled out with the hairs.

I always get these bright ideas before I travel. I seem to recall one particularly disastrous episode of Julia-Pre-Travel Stupidity when I thought I wanted, no - couldn't live without - blonde highlights. The day before I left on vacation.

Terese made a special trip over to the house afterwards to gaze on my blonde-ness in speechless, um, admiration for that particular event. After which I made a screaming trip back to a different hairstylist to MAKE IT ALL GO AWAY.

Sigh.  Ice packs. Cold water compresses. Concealing makeup, if all else fails.....

Terese: I can hear you laughing all the way over here. Just remember that you have to be seen with me in public for the next two weeks. So quit.

And no wearing your I'M WITH STUPID t-shirt this time.