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Frida Kahlo was much harsher on herself in her self-portraits than in pictures taken of her.

Okay, without any scientific studies to back me up, I would assume that a good 80-85% of women worldwide wax (or shave) somewhere on their bodies. No, I’m not talking about “down there,” that’s another blog post. Or not. Whatever. Today, I’m talking about facial waxing.

Having the background that I do, it’s pretty obvious that any excess hair might be on the darker, more noticeable side. (KlassyMom is Latina and KlassyDad is Whitey McWhite, heh.) Now, unlike Frida Kahlo, if I stopped waxing/tweezing altogether, I would not have a unibrow or well defined mustache as in her self-portraits. (Thank goodness!) However, being the vain creature that I am, I don’t like my brows not being groomed.

I came to the waxing scene late – probably in my early 20’s – after having a makeover where the person giving me a new look suggested that I give it a try to “open up my eyes.” I didn’t believe her, but I gave it a shot and lo and behold, she was right. Once I discovered that, I wasn’t far from waxing the upper lip either. As I grow older, I notice the excess hair grows back quicker, is a bit darker – where I used to take care of things once a month or so, I now take care of the excess once every two weeks, when I get a manicure and pedicure.

So, last week I decided I needed a pedicure and to take care of my face. (No manicure because I have a hurt/wonky fingernail from the closing of the shop, so no manicures for a while.) I had a great pedicure and went in for the brow/lip wax. All was well, until after she was done with my brows and lip she asks, “your chin too?” Ummm, no. No. No. No. Do you see hair on my chin?! No. Soooo, that would mean NO. Of course I was much nicer in refusing her offer… but what the hell? You have to sign in for your services when you get there. If I don’t write it on the sign in form, I don’t want it. Period.

Now there may be some people out there who don’t understand the vanity… and I don’t expect y’all to. Hell, I have an agreement with my stylist (whom I’ve known since I was 12) that if she runs across grey hairs while I’m in her chair, to just take care of them, don’t even ask. She hasn’t had to deal with that yet, thankfully – the two that I’ve had, I found and took care of. Vain? Perhaps. Girly-girl? Definitely. Do I care that I am? No.

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