Dear Parlour ladies and gentlemen,
We need to talk. It’s not you, it’s me. I am breaking up with you. And like most socially awkward break-up ceremonies, I am doing it through passive-aggressive communication.
What happens in eyebrows, stays in eyebrows
Why is it that my decision to thread my eyebrows metamorphoses into a treatise on my skin? And, that, all my needs in the “beauty and prettification” department always end with how urgently I need a facial, a scrub or a bleach with titanium dust. I have even been asked to do a “back facial” because of that spare face I carry around in my back.
I avoid all questions about when I last did what, and how my skin is in advanced stages of disrepair, but the probing continues unabated. I hate that I am an object of your daily sales target. I can see your sorority pointing fingers at me, skin shaming through the bentonite-clay mudpack in your fingers. Please do my eyebrows, and leave my natural ugliness be. Just for today.
Lets hair it out
“Need to cut my hair”.
“It’s oily, flaky, scaly, lumpy, sticky and kind of big for your head. You put the dread in dreadlocks.”
“So, now what?”
“We will try what we can do, with condescension. You will need to spend large amounts of money here (hear of our hairy loyalty programme?) because we will sandwich the only necessary service you need with one prep-on, two add-ons, one follow-on and a few follow-throughs. I will be mumbling a lot of stuff, which I may or may not immediately start drawing on a whiteboard that they have put here for NO reason. Also, you will buy at least one leave-in hair product as a cardinal rule. Cool?”
“No. Are you crazy!? I admit my hair is frizzy and untamed, and this is an outright Hair Rights violation.”
Can you please stop setting me on fire?
One reason this relationship has been choppy is that immolation is never good for love. As it is, all pilgrimages to the parlour entail just a wee bit of heartlessness. Wincing, yelping and straight-out bawling. And then to make matters worse, the temperature control on that wax bucket is just supernatural. As in, it is always supernaturally burning hot! One of my secret peeves is I hate to be burnt, skin-first. Then I spend the whole day lurking around gardens, looking to steal aloe-vera leaves to treat the burns. I know what you will say now. No, thank you, I do not want to try lasering my hair follicles off.
I will probably show up again, like everyone else, forgiving all your judgments.
No, I was born this way.