I wasn't a total tomboy either. I mean, growing up, I was tomboy-ish. Then at nine, puberty hit me square in the chest and things just sort of happen. But back to today.
As a few of you are aware, there's a time in a woman's life when she rides a hormonal roller-coaster to hell and back. Yes, it takes place from the start of puberty till... DEATH! Okay, not really, but close! Peri-menopause is the "official" name for it and I've been boobs-deep in my hormonal hell for the last four and a half years. There have been a few changes since then, some I've posted about, some I've spared you (and will continue to spare you, because... you know, ew).
Some of these changes mimic a thyroid disorder, which I happen to already be stuck with (since I was 18, no less). Other changes can make you think you're pregnant (irregular cycles, nausea, swelling, some weight gain). And other changes are just plain hairy.
And I mean that literally.
Let me tell a little story... when I was a wee child, we lived about a day's drive from my parents' hometown and their entire families. And we'd visit at least once a year when we lived that close. I had an aunt (I still do, actually) who was one of those vain types. She thought she was the bee's knees (which makes you wonder what's so great about knees on a bee) and never failed to let everyone else know of her bee-knee-ness. However, and no offense to her, she was not. She wasn't all that attractive, in the conventional sense. On top of some minor faults that would have kept her off magazine covers (and those people are freakin' aliens anyway!), she had a very visible mustache. That's right. She had hair on her upper lip that was thick enough for sunlight to shine through. She called it her "kissing brush" and her husband didn't seem to mind. As the years went by, I noticed older women had this a lot. Not all, but some. And some women had really dark hair on their upper lip.
My own grandmother told me that she'd been shaving twice a week for "years"... I was around 20 years old when she revealed that to me. I was shocked. I was always told if you shaved, it would grow back thicker. Turns out that its not true, but whatever!
As I grew, so did my lip fuzz. And for the longest time, it didn't bother me. It wasn't visible to anyone unless they were RIGHT-NEXT-TO-MY-FACE and if they were that close to my face, then chances are they sorta liked me anyway. Then, I hit 34 years old and like puberty hitting me straight in the chest just as I was hitting double-digit in age, peri-menopause reared its ugly and hairy face. That damn fuzz got a little thicker.
On top of that weird lip fuzz, I would get the occasional whisker. Yeah, I know! Who had THAT brilliant idea? One random whisker right in my chin. And of course, I never noticed it till it was long enough to sway in a breeze. When I realized it was not a temporary thing, I became almost obsessed with that stupid whisker. At the first sign of it, out came the tweezers and it was GONE! Then what... oh, another damned whisker! Before it was all said and done- and before I was 40 years old- I had several damn whiskers to pluck. And of course, they're all black and OBVIOUS! So, my weekly eyebrow-plucking became a search and destroy mission for all coarse dark hair that wasn't where it was supposed to be... as in, my eyebrows.
And that damnable lip fuzz just kept growing.
No big deal, I said to my deluded self. Its still really blonde, nobody even sees it and who cares? If Crazy Aunt Mustache could live with it, so could I! Then I noticed that this damn thing seemed to get lighter and darker depending on my hormones. Not a big deal either, because by this time, I rarely left the house. And by this time, nobody got RIGHT-NEXT-TO-MY-FACE, even if they liked me. I never considered bleaching, because most times when any kind of hair-lightening product gets near me, it turns my hair a vibrant orange-y color. And wouldn't that be lovely on my upper lip?
Then a few of the hairs near the edges of my lady 'stache started to turn dark. Oh... okay then... add those to the weekly eyebrow-pluck-whisker-search-and-destroy mission. My hair-harvest became its own ritual. I longed for days of yore, when I was young and cute and that lip fuzz was "adorable" and people still liked to get close to me and enjoyed being around me in a happy way instead of because they had to be near me. (but that's a rant for another time).
More than a few times, I eyed a razor, thinking, "Heck, Gramma did it for 'years'... I suppose I could live with it..." and I came close! I did. I came so very close to touching that disposable Lady Triple-blade of death to my delicate and furry upper lip. But I didn't. Even though I KNOW it isn't true, I still worried that it would just grow back thicker and scarier and more like Crazy Aunt Mustache.
But, I don't think I'm the bee's knees. I don't think I'm even the bee's elbows. I think I'm fun and sometimes interesting. The lady who cuts my hair thinks I'm fun and why would she lie to me?
After months and months of staring at my ever-darkening furry upper lip, today I did it. I did something that is supposed to make me less... matronly. Less hirsute. Less... hairy.
I waxed my upper lip.
I've been to beauty college. I used to do nails. But back in beauty college, you practice on each other. More than once, someone would walk into our room (the nail room, I suppose) and say, "I need to do [insert beauty activity like waxing] this week, anyone want to volunteer?" Of course! In fact, that was the first place I ever had my eyebrows waxed. Who knew it would be a lifetime commitment? Except I conquer mine most of the time with tweezers. I'm telling you this because I've been waxed before. By semi-professionals. I've had my eyebrows waxed, my legs, even my bikini area. And, I've waxed my own eyebrows- with the very same "wax strips" I used today on my upper lip. I've got tattoos! Eight of them! Four of those directly on bone! Two of those on tender inner wrist skin! I'm not a wuss!
Today's trip to vanity hurt like a [expletive about mothers and an activity usually partaken by fathers]! Of all the things I've had waxed in my life, this brought tears to my eyes. And it stung! And it burned! And it DIDN'T GET IT ALL! I took the wax strip and pressed it to the right side of my lip again... and yanked. I had to use tweezers to get the few tree trunks that remained rooted, despite the double-waxing on the one side. Why only one? Because it [expletive usually partaken by married folk on their wedding night] hurt MORE when I did it that second time.
My biggest worry was that my upper lip would turn bright red and swell up. It did turn red at first. But, after about an hour and a liberal application of Neosporin, the redness went away.
As the day went on... my upper lip felt hot and I had to remind myself more often than not to NOT touch it. If I kept touching it, it would in all likelihood, break out. Then I discovered the reason for the hot feeling. The right side is slightly swollen. It is slightly swollen, warm and it stings when air touches it- which is, you know, constantly! When I do get brave and touch it with my finger, its numb. The left side is nearly fine, just a bit tender. It doesn't look too bad, even with the slight swelling. I took some photos, but it didn't really show in a photo.
Why am I telling you all this? You're thinking to yourself, "I've got hair issues of my own and I pluck/wax/bleach myself... you weirdo." Well, I just wanted to give you this piece of advice...
Don't ever double-wax.