I consider myself an assertive and proud woman. I can hang up on telemarketers faster than a speeding bullet. I can turn down samples in the grocery store and dodge the perfume spritzer ladies with the greatest of ease. And yet I find myself in a peculiar situation that I am going to call instant Karma.
Right now I have giant red welts on my chin; I have hives on my upper lip; I have bumps all over my legs and a certain amount of shame written all over my face. It started the other morning when I blew off everything I should have been doing to go get a pedicure. I dropped my daughter off at pre-school and headed straight to the salon. I had some fun money burning a hole in my pocket and a cup of hot coffee in hand. What better way to blow off some steam than to sit in a massage chair and watch Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb get wasted on live TV while someone rubs smelly good lotions and salves all over my feet. A perfect morning, right?
Why did I need to blow off some steam? Well it could be the fact that my house looked like a traveling band of hippies had a keg party with a convention of toys salesman. (Take a minute to marinate on that.) It could be that my refrigerator was completely bare of anything with an ounce of nutritional value. It could also be that I had a paper due on Friday that was worth a full 35% of my grade. A paper that I had not finished researching… Or in truth, a paper that I had not started researching.
To be fair, I did have a book on the subject with me which I had fully planned on reading in the hour I would spend in the deliciously awesome massage chair. A book that sat, unread in my purse while I flipped eagerly through every trashy gossip magazine I could get my hands on. Flash forward to the instant Karma part.
I was sitting in the chair when my nail technician gave me a critical look. “Who does your eyebrows?” Translation: “Your eyebrows look like garbage; you should fire whoever does them immediately.” No biggie, wax away I said.
Before I knew it, I had wax on my eyebrows, my upper lip and even my chin. I was finally able to stop her before she went for my sideburns, which I still maintain I do not have. I don’t know if it was the lovely scented cream on my legs (which caused a major rash) or a sympathy drunk with Kathie Lee Gifford, but I was powerless to tell her no. This tiny slip of a woman, armed with a tongue depressor and strips of muslin, was the real life equivalent of Lex Luthor to my Superman. I left the nail salon definitely less hairy and definitely with a much, much lighter wallet. (I love to pay for the privilege of having someone rip the hair out of my body, by the way.) Oh, and my toes are now a beautiful shade of silver.
When I went to complain to my dearest husband he started to stare at my face in a way that was definitely not romantic. It was more, “Oh my God, I think I married a Sasquatch.” I dropped the conversation immediately and instead started to unload the dishwasher.
The moral of the story: When there is cleaning to be done, do your chores and then have fun. If you skip it to go relax, you will be punished with hot wax.
a life just ordinary 