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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on June 25th, 2008, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 9, Issue 15 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 9, Issue 15

Wax on, wax off

Krider loses some hair and some tears

By ROB KRIDER

Women spend a lot of time and money making themselves look good. Guys rarely appreciate how much pain and suffering goes into the effort of beautification. The fact of the matter is, guys don’t appreciate it because guys have never tried to do it. When we want to look good, we get a $12 haircut and put on a shirt that we didn’t get at a concert or for free at a car dealership.

Women are different. They work hard on their appearance, their clothes, and of course, their accessories. Sooner or later, a woman, who has been in a marriage for more than a decade and has worked her tail off to look good while her husband wears the same pair of paint-stained shorts for six years straight, well, she wakes up one morning and wants to see a little effort coming from the other side of the bed. That morning happened to be yesterday at my house.

My wife, whom I love, wanted me to try to look good for once by doing some maintenance on my eyebrows—or eyebrow, to be more accurate. Apparently, my mono-brow had gotten to the point where my family and friends were beginning to plan an intervention.

Seeing that I had one choice, and that was to do what my wife wanted, I decided to go with the flow. My wife had a pedicure appointment at a local salon and she told me to tag along since the girls there could wax my eyebrow(s). I parked the car around the back of the nail salon, looked around for anyone I knew, and then quickly walked in before someone saw me.

Inside the salon were a number of women getting manicures and pedicures. When I walked in, it was like the record skipped—a man had arrived. My wife spoke some sort of female beauty code to the lady behind the counter, who looked at me and nodded her head. I couldn’t tell if the lady nodded because she agreed to do a man’s eyebrows or if she nodded because she agreed that my eyebrows absolutely, definitely, and desperately needed to be worked on. Either way, I was ushered back to “The Room.”

“The Room” was separated from the rest of the salon. There was a small bed to lie down on. “The Room” was all white, and—honestly—it felt quite comfortable. I lay down on the little bed and smiled. The lady asked me if it was my first time. Apparently, I looked too relaxed. After all, ignorance is bliss. I told her that I indeed was a rookie, and then closed my eyes so she could do her thing.

At first she used a little comb to arrange my eyebrows a certain way. It sort of tickled. Then she applied some warm, soothing wax that went from the top of the bridge of my nose to the center of my forehead. I felt her gently press down a soft, thin cloth on the wax, and then, without warning, without signing a waiver, and without prejudice, she ripped my spinal cord right out of my body from in between my eyes.

I didn’t make a sound, but my eyes told the truth as they filled up with a pool of tears. I kept them shut tight so nobody would know. But it wasn’t over. In fact, it was far, far from over. She applied wax to the underside of my eyebrows. When she ripped the hairs from the lower portion of my brows, it made the first pull feel like a warm up. But even that was just getting things started. The tweezing was next. What the nice lady didn’t get with a quick jerk of a clump of hair, she agonizingly ripped out one hair at a time, slowly, methodically, painfully. My jaw was clenched, my eyes were filled with tears, and my stomach even jumped a little as if I were about to cry. She actually made me miss my dentist. I was lying there thinking I should send him a Christmas card.

As the eyebrow lady excruciatingly yanked hair after hair out of my face, I realized that the whole thing was false advertising. The sign on the door said, “Waxing—$9.” I wasn’t just getting a waxing; I was getting a waxing and a tweezing. Apparently tweezing is on the house. And it should be. You can’t possibly charge anyone for something that painful. It seems to me that the police should tweeze the eyebrows of suspected criminals to gain confessions. The success rate would be phenomenal.
The nice lady (or, in my new opinion, Beelzebub) finished and then basically told me to get out because other customers were waiting. I wanted to ask her if I could have a minute to compose myself, but the look on her face said that there was no time for boys to cry. I slowly stood and tried to suck it up. I walked out of “The Room” and saw that every woman in the salon was staring at me. I hoped it wasn’t obvious that I was on the verge of tears. It was that moment that I realized how hard these women work to look good. I might as well just have paid that lady to kick me in the face while wearing ice skates. These poor women go into “The Room” again and again. I felt shame for ever suggesting to my wife that she should get a bikini wax.

When she saw me, my wife had the biggest smile on her face I had ever seen. Her husband had two eyebrows where there used to be one, and he had to go through the pain of waxing (and tweezing!). They say that beauty is a curse. It’s a curse alright—I cursed like a sailor when they tried to make me beautiful.

After the swelling went away, Rob checked the mirror and realized he does look fabulous!




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