‘Member Movember? Well, the firefighter grew a ‘stache for the occasion and decided to keep it. You know when something new enters your world and you begin to notice it everywhere? I had never really paid attention to the number of men sporting so many different styles of facial hair.
If only the story ended there.
You see the firefighter took great care in the combing, trimming and shaping of his ‘stache. For some bizarre reason this inspired me to take a long, hard, CLOSE look in the mirror. Um. What the what? I was the spitting image of Tom Selleck. My dad was an accomplished grower of facial hair and I imagined he would be quite impressed, if I was his son.
Well crap. The firefighter and I are planning a second honeymoon to Mexico and I was indistinguishable as the female of our couple. So I started googling for advice and asking some of the ladies I know who have dealt with this issue. The collective responses suggested bleaching or waxing. Plucking was out of the question because it was a full blown man stache and I do not have hours to dedicate toward that level of hair removal/female upkeep.
I decided to try bleaching. The kit I bought promised to make the hair lighter and thinner in one use and with continued use the hair should become unnoticeable. I used it everyday for a week. The hair did become lighter, but instead of becoming thinner it seemed to develope a thick, spike-like exterior as a defense mechanism. It looked like Billy Idol was giving a concert on my face. When I walked outside and stepped in the sunlight, my luxurious flowing mustache locks glinted and blinded those near me, much like a vampire’s skin. Seriously. I generally do not wear makeup, but I started putting powder above my lip to combat the shine from my silent battle. This was ridiculous! I was spending way more time being self focused than ever and now this hair I had never noticed before was now as plain as the peach fuzz on a high school boy’s face.
To make matters more superficially worse my husband and I were supposed to go on a trip to visit some of his old friends for a few days. I was nervous enough about the trip I truly could not reconcile the image of us sporting matching moustache’s for the occasion. So I decided I better just wax the dang thing and be done with it. Again I did a lot of research and asked around. I considered going to get it professionally done, but I couldn’t justify the cost and I really didn’t have any opportunity to take time for myself. Plus, I did not want to explain to the firefighter what I needed to do, when he was so sweetly pretending not to notice the strange gender bending that was occurring on his bride’s face.
I bought a few waxing kits. One that required a microwave to warm the wax and another with strips. The microwavable kit had the best reviews and was personally recommended by some ladies I know. I stuck it in the microwave and my microwave ceased to work. Not kidding. The warranty is apparently expiring on every stinkin’ thing we own lately. I was a woman possessed by a desire to look like a woman again, so I decided to just use the other kit. The thing is, I was on a time crunch before the firefighter came home. I had the boys in the bath, and Amelia was eating dinner in her highchair. I wasn’t really prepared to carefully read another set of instructions but I was prepared to be testosterone free before trying to kiss my husband without our mustaches becoming entwined.
I went for it.
In full view of my precious three children I applied, then RIPPED strips of wax from my face. They were quite concerned. The boys stopped splashing water all over the bathroom floor to ask questions, “Why don’t you like your mustache? Does daddy know what you are doing? If you’re not crying why are there tears in your eyes and on your face? You should get rid of that hair too (pointing to another area on my face).” My face now resembled a ruddy Sir Ben Kingsly. Amelia just stared in horror, hoping she got her daddy’s genes and not mine. When the firefighter came home and my face was oddly hairless and painfully red, I confessed what I had been up to for the past ten days. I told him all about noticing, bleaching, and now waxing. He just stared at my upper lip the whole time and said he had never noticed until I started the bleaching process. That was when he “noticed, ‘hey, Amber has a little peach fuzz.’” The firefighter actually admitting he had noticed it is tantamount to a normal human saying, “Holy crap! I married the bearded lady!”
Unfortunately, there is an afterword to this tale . Yes, the hair came out just fine. But I didn’t read very well about what to do after ripping my hair out. The kit came with oil. I figured I should slather it on my raw skin. I thought it was to soothe.
Two days later I was still hair free, but I now had an acnestache. Every pore that had release a hair, absorbed that oil, then produced a pimple. This has not been my favorite. I want to go back to the time before I noticed myself.