My entire post-pubescent life has been a quest for near-hairlessness. Head? That’s cool. A little downy fuzz on my arms? Great. Cute, almost. But there must be some secret Kardashian in my otherwise extremely white Northern European heritage. Let’s just say I’ve Googled “hirsutism” more than once. Look it up, people.
I used to watch as the gay hosts on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy forced dude after dude to hot wax his back and think, longingly, “If only someone would put me on a reality show and do that to my ass.”
Here’s a secret, women who are younger than me, and it’s one that no one ever tells you, so listen up: When you hit perimenopause, you are 90% likely to grow a she-beard. Also, a she-stache. THAT’S SCIENCE.
This is an open secret in my house. My girls have seen mom next to dad at the double sinks, Matt with his Norelco and me lathered up old school with my Venus Embrace quintuple-blade razor “for a whole new level of smoothness” as I “get ready for a shave fit for a goddess.” Which I totally call bullshit on because I am quite sure Aphrodite is NOT rocking the she-beard.
So I have always been curious about the claimed-permanence of laser hair removal, but damn, is it expensive. Then, like a gift in my inbox, appeared a Groupon for THREE SESSIONS FOR A LOW, LOW PRICE. I clicked “purchase” and the deal was on.
Pro Tip: I recommend buying the Groupons for medical and quasi-medical services like Lasik eye surgery, cosmetic dentistry, and anything involving hot pinpoint lasers aimed at your face. Nothing screams “highly qualified” more than a company so desperate to put asses in the seats that it is willing to discount its services 75% or more. Bonus points if they are located in a strip mall.
Laser hair removal is, essentially, hair follicle genocide. You recline on a dentist’s chair as the – let’s call her an “aesthetician”—rolls over the laser machine, which resembles nothing if not The Noo-Noo from The Teletubbies:
She put goggles on my eyes so I could pretend they were protected, and turned on the machine, which is as quiet and soothing as an MRI sans headphones.
Me: Will it hurt?
Her: Not really, it feels like mosquito bites. It’s good if you feel something, that means it is working!
She began zapping. I guess by “mosquitoes” she meant the biggest motherfucking mutant mosquitoes ever that she met while jungle hiking with Bear Grylls and which shoot hot needles into your face. Apparently, it was working.
Delighted, she held up a hand mirror so I could behold the results.
Her: Look at that black sludgy stuff! That’s a whole area of hair we killed!
Me: Um, that’s awesome and also can you wipe the sludge off?
Her: (Wipes off sludge)
Me: What about the red blotches?
Her: Oh, those will calm down in a few hours.
If by “a few hours”, she meant 72, then yes, the red blotches calmed down. First, they blistered, then they scabbed over, and then, finally, I shed face-skin like a snake.
Because random coarse dark hairs on your chin? Disgusting. But third degree burns over two-thirds of your neck? That’s sexy.
I am soooo excited, though. My next appointment is in four weeks!
I’m hooking up with the Yeah, Write blogging challenge again this week! It’s an amazing group of supportive bloggers who write and writers who blog. Join us! The challenge grid opens Tuesdays at midnight Eastern, and you can read 50 posts and vote on your five faves on Thursday. Or link up with the Hangout Grid to share your post without the competitive side. Anyone can read and vote so long as you promise to play fair and read everything, and not campaign for votes.