Thursday, April 2, 2009

Waxing and Waning

Ab walked in on my bathroom time . . . again.

This time, I was not showering.  I was trying to wax my upper lip.  A task that is best performed without the benefit of a very curious, question-asking audience.

"What are you doing mom?" Ab asked.

I answered between pursed lips as the wax began to harden and pull my skin taut, "Well, I am waxing my upper lip."  Then I threw in, "It's part of my beauty routine."

"Well what's waxing?  What's it do?"

Bless this sweet, naive girl, I thought.  "Well, I put the wax on my lip, it gets hard, and then I riiiiip it off.   When I do, it pulls the hair out of my lip." 

She grimaced and questioned the obvious, "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yes, girlie!  It hurts like . . ." and I paused to find a word to substitute for hell. "Well, let's just say that it brings tears to my eyes!"

She pondered the image for a moment and then clarified, "And you do this to get rid of hair?"


"So . . .,"  she paused, "You have a moustache?"

"For lack of a better word . . . yes.  It sometimes happens to ladies when they get older and they have dark hair," I explained.

Then Ab smiled a big ear to ear grin.

I figured that she was calculating that she would never be subjected to the pain of waxing, because she is so very, very blonde.  This was a thought that definitely made me smile too, because, really, who would want to subject her loved one to the pain inflicted by ripping out hair by its roots.  That is a fate that a sane person would only wish upon her enemies, (and maybe not even them).  Waxing hurts that badly.

So I prompted, "Whatcha smiling about blondie?"

"Oh nothing,"  she said but continued with that gigantic smile.

"Oh, c'mon Ab.  You can tell me,"  I reassured her.

She hesitated and said, "Weeeeeelllllll . . . OK.  I thought of another word."

Caught of guard I asked, "What?  What are you talking about?"

"Well you said 'For lack of a better word . . . moustache', and I thought of a better word," she boasted proudly.

I couldn't wait to hear her option so I said, "OK. Lay it on me."

Without missing a beat she said, "Mom-stache.  You have a mom-stache."

Then she burst into an uproar of giggles and guffaws.

Hardy.  Flipping.  Har. 

I would have joined her laughs, if my wax hadn't hardened.

Aaaaaah beauty.

It's painful, and sometimes, it's not very funny.

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