Lederhosen
Do we all know what lederhosen is? No? Okay, here you go:
Now imagine that you've been seeing someone who you really enjoy for a few months. You've never met anyone really important to said person, except the Best Friend and Best Friend's Spouse. That is where we were in our whatevership last night. After I took Bug to the Revel and then to my mother's apartment, I asked GM if he would like to spend some time with me after his family function. He was agreeable, and I went to pick him up with a friend (who doesn't have a nickname yet).
GM met us outside with a stein in his hand. I was immediately jealous because this man has been bragging about his "wheat" for weeks. He then proceeded to invite us inside after I brought up the fact that he was trying to get in the car with an open container. I. Was. TERRIFIED. Not about the illegal quality of having the beer in the car, but about meeting people! I had just left the Revel, which took up my month's People Quota, and this man wanted me to go into his house! I wasn't at my best by any stretch, but I was glad I took the time to smear a little makeup on after work.
We get inside and EVERYONE is dressed in traditional German garb. GM just had on a lederhosen t-shirt, but everyone else there had on either one of those or lederhosen proper - men and women! And they were dancing to polka music! I hate the early stages of a whatevership, but lederhosen definitely makes meeting folks rather enjoyable. Maybe next year I'll bring an accordion.
Lip Wax
At the Revel on Saturday, my friend took me a little off to the side. Apparently, the sun was hitting my sweet ginger peach fuzz on my face in that special way that Western women learn young to dread.
I never had this problem before I had Bug. Yes, I have bushy eyebrows, but I think shaping them is silly. I don't have a unibrow, and even the most groomed of women begrudgingly admit that the shape is not terrible. If I get a wild hair (hardy har har), I'll even do a little plucking. Honestly, I am well-stocked in the chest department, so I doubt very many people even realize that I have eyebrows. Yeah, I said it. Yet the other facial hair slowly turning darker is all Bug's fault. I strongly believe that each time you're forced to yell at your child for something, it turns one little hair follicle black, or brown in my case. I usually just pluck it because I hate waxing, and if it has to be done, I pay someone else to do it. I am a wimp.
I was feeling a little cheap tonight. I remembered that I had a home waxing kit in my bathroom that had been up there since the last time I decided to do something stupid. I ended up chickening out and subjecting the poor children at Guy's Academy to my sweet ginger peach fuzz after I bought it. I'm flattered that they always laugh at my two or three dark hairs, but I digress. (Side note: Why the Hell am I writing this?! Why are you still reading it?!) Anyways, eyebrow waxing is the Most Terrible Awful Thing, and I didn't need to do that. It's been a few months since I've waxed, I'm tired of plucking, I have the goods, so why not wax my own lip?
In case you don't know, there are people out there who say that I am an intelligent woman. You can be the judge on this one. I don't care much for pain, and I know how much I hate waxing. Taking both of those things into consideration, I went ahead and put the hot wax everywhere that needed some touch up work. I slathered it on good and thick, so I couldn't change my mind about it.
I pulled off the first section. I did not feel like an intelligent woman. I felt like a hobbit getting locked in Moria - there was no turning back and the worst was yet to come. Hell, I was feeling as hairy as a hobbit because there's nothing like wax to make you aware of every single follicle.
After the second section, I was cursing Sally Hansen and all things dealing with American female beauty. I have a brain damnit! Why am I pulling off the skin of my face?! I am of Slavic descent, for the most part, and I was crying out for Perun (as he is portrayed in Hammered by Kevin Hearne because he is very fun) to save me from my foolhardiness because he loves a good hairy woman! He didn't. I didn't expect that he would. I was on my own.
I swear to Bob, this whole thing ended with a pair of scissors. I won't go into much details. I'm sure most of you lady-folks know exactly what happened. Or not. I am a bit strange. Either way, it was done. I got all of the wax off of my face, along with most of the offending hair and a good bit of skin. It would've even been okay if my grandmother hadn't burst into laughter when I came into the living room.
*sigh*
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