After a few well-placed hints from my favorite nail salon ladies, I agreed to my first (and last) upper lip wax.
As my lip was painted in molten lava, I ignored the smell of burning flesh. Like a wuss I wanted to change my mind on the table, yet I was paralyzed.
With one swift r-i-pppp, my baby fine, blonde lip hair was yanked from the roots along with the top layer of epidermis.
For ten bucks, I exchanged an invisible mustache for a bright cherry red Kool-aid welt.
I know there are plenty of ladies who get more sensitive areas waxed, but for the life of me, I don’t know how or why.
Gnarls Barkley, Crazy