Last night I finally scheduled a hair appointment with myself. It’s not easy to get myself on my book! Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I don’t believe that my coworkers are gifted and talented. They are. In fact, they’re so gifted and talented that I know they deserve a break. Therefore, rather than asking them to stay a few more hours to work on my hair, I usually just do it myself.
And how? Consider how you know your way home. The streets and turns are so routine that if there were no traffic, your hands would steer you home, even if your eyes were closed. Sometimes it’s so second-nature that once you arrive home, you don’t even remember how you got there! And so it is with my hands. My hands know the feeling of a hair process so well, that even when my arms are lifted up over my head and I’m maneuvering with a three-way mirror, my fingers still execute the proper techniques out of sheer muscle memory.
Not so with the lip wax. That’s another story all together. The ease and timing with which I work on my clients suddenly becomes very tense and awkward when directed toward myself. Yeah, I can wax my own lip. It takes a little longer though, what with the disconnect between my brain and my hands.
There I am with muslin stuck over each side of my upper lip.
Okay. Pull them off in 3. One, two, three…
Okay. Exhale. Then pull them off in three. One, two, three…
There’s tons of pep talk involved. It’s ridiculous. I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that I’m stubborn, the fact that I’m brave or the fact that I’m vain that ultimately overrides the anxiety of what’s to come. Perhaps it’s a cocktail of the three. Either way, my lip is smooth again.
Lip waxing, by the way, always needs to be done on a night when I know I’m going straight home. Because when I’m done, my fair, half Irish skin leaves me looking like I’ve got a third lip. And that’s only a vision that Brian should behold. He’s a lucky guy.