There should be a law banning the use of wax strips.
My sister, the Queen, has always been the vain and beauty conscious one. She was the person who introduced me to various beauty maneuvers that were apparently requisite for women: perming, hair relax, hair rebond and cellophane, as well as massage treatments. When I was in my final year in college, she had the brilliant idea to trim my crazy eyebrows. I twitched, pleaded, winced, teared up for each pluck, each yank of a stray hair on my (then) thick eyebrows.
When finished, I no longer looked like the long-lost daughter of Freida Kahlo . In my face is a pair of brand new eyebrows, shaped to perfection and with a perfect arch. For once, I looked my age–a girl about to finish university.
Through the years, I have learned basic beauty and grooming requisites: the requisite facial, hair cut, eyebrow shaping and hair rebond (while spying over cutie hairstylists at Tony and Jackey). I thought I knew it all–until my sister came to my little space and asked if I have a mustache.
I don’t have a mustache, I said. But the Queen was already inspecting the little (very, very light) fuzz I have on the corner of my mouth. Suffice to say, she was already talking about newly bought wax strips that would apparently leave my mouth fuzz free.
So, anyway–fast forward 2 minutes later and I was already lying on the Queen’s bed while she applies this piece of cotton with melted wax. She patted, nudged then counted, 1-2-3…
It was so quick and painful and itchy that I had to laugh and whine at the same time. It was so uncomfortable and itchy that it made me ask why women subject their selves to painful rituals such as these for the sake of beauty. I felt my upper lip swelling, as if I suddenly had monkey snout (wait, only pigs have snouts right?). I resisted the urge to kick my sister cos she was laughing like crazy while I have left-over wax on my upper lip like I ate something oily and never bothered to clean up.
And then, apparently–it has to be thorough. So, she repeated the process thrice until she was finally satisfied with her handiwork. (Her ability to concentrate while laughing her ass off is legendary)
And so, your KamikazeeGirl of today no longer sports the soft, barely noticeable fuzz present on her upper lip. Yeah, am waxed and (slightly) still in pain due to the mild swelling of the waxed area. Right now, I am mentally wincing in pain thinking about girls who have their legs (and other interesting areas) waxed in the name of beauty.
I remain in awe of us women, and the measures we take to be presentable and dare I even say it, beautiful. After all, no pain, no gain. So with newly waxed snout, I called the Hubby and asked what he thought of my recent foray into self-beautification.
He leaned closer, stared for a bit and said, “nyek, ang kapal ng nguso mo!” (Your upper lips are swollen). Oh, yeah…thanks.