Waxing and other forms of Female Torture

Does it make me masochistic that I like getting my eyebrows waxed?

I go to this place called Li's Nails that was recommended to me by a teacher friend. This particular friend used to be in the pageant circuit (yes, we're in Texas) and her nails, eyebrows and everything else about her is always perfectly poised for competition. (Those rambunctious middle-schoolers weren't going to make her look haggard.)

So Teacher-Friend let me in on this one beauty secret. Let me just get it out in the open, Li's is not one of your finer day spas. It is what it is. And what it is, is the kind of place where they ask if you want to do your "moustache, too." (The ambiance is about on par with the tact at this place.) But I keep going back for more.

I like to sit back in their ordinary black office chair and feel the slight burn of the wax before they rip it off my face. Li is usually speaking incomprehensibly to one of her co-workers. It might as well be Vietnamese; I can't understand a word of it, but I find it soothing. If the procedure lasted more than 2 minutes I'm sure I could fall asleep.

I know, I'm sharing all sorts of personal things and I feel so naked. But who doesn't love getting their eyebrows cleaned up? Maybe I should say, I don't find it very painful and overall it is a pleasant thing to do for myself. Is that weird?

My friend's mom had an Epi-lady when we were kids. Remember those machines of female misery? They had a coil of wire that simply ripped the hair out of root off your legs; the logic being that it would grow back softer and less noticeable. We screamed like Banshees! Oh the pain! We were about eleven when we experimented with that thing and I decided right then and there that I'd rather have furry legs than participate in such self-loathing, ever again.

Here I am twenty years later, still torturing myself! I had a baby, afterall. He's three and I haven't gotten rid of him yet...some days that defies logic. The last two days he's been sent to time-out within a minute of getting out of bed. This is no exaggeration. Three can be torture.

I also tend to burn myself almost everytime I turn on the oven. If the scars on my hands could talk, they would say "either: chain smoker, or really, really clumsy in the kitchen." MMA is convinced its psycho-logically motivated, because burning one's self so frequently can't be accidental. (Even a monkey can learn not to burn its self if repeatedly exposed to a hot oven, right? My words, not his.)

Quick mention about my drug of choice: the flat-iron. When you take a shower, then sweat down your back to fix your hair, it can't be for pleasure...maybe with some therapy, I could get on board Team Naturally Curly Hair. Maybe.

Here's my favorite torture of them all. Some of you may be able to identify. You could tell me honestly and without hesitation to just stop the madness and in the next breath, torture yourself in the same way...get your bags packed, ladies, we're going on a GUILT TRIP! Is this a female universal, or am I especially gifted with the ability to burden myself with ridiculous, totally avoidable, and unnecessary guilt?

I'm guilty right now, because my little one is parked in front of the TV while I enjoy some "me" time...he's going through a difficult stage, after all, and needs my every fiber, every minute of the day. (TV watching = Bad mom)

....I'm back. Only Child went to the bathroom and my service was needed there. I would only share this tidbit with good, non judgemental people who would understand. I found myself saying "Anthony, don't flush the toilet, mommy needs to see your poo poo." I can't be the only one, er uh, the only mom who needs to see it...(ChaCha, your day will come.)

Be assured this is not another variation of mommy cutting herself...who else is going to stay on top of the stomach situation in this house?

How do you torture yourself? Misery loves company.