Wednesday, April 06, 2005

"They wanted to search my diplomatic pouch."

God made me a hairy freak. Okay, genetics and cocktail of chemicals made me a hairy freak, but whatever. Since I don't live in a society that loves the hairy, freaky woman, I have to indulge in the occasional trip to the salon. It seems like such as scam to pay someone $10 (not including tax and tip) to rip the dark hairs off my face, but I'm a sucker.

There's a place on Broadway that will make my eyebrows pretty for $20. It's is primarily a threading salon and if you've never heard of threading before, it's supposed to be the alternative to waxing. What they don't tell you is that it doesn't hurt any less.

A look in the bathroom mirror yesterday reminded me that it was time to have my mustache yanked away. Oy vey. I had post work drink plans with Holly (lychee martinis) and I really didn't want to be crazy mustache lady.

As I laid back in the salon chair, tears welled up in my eyes as the woman deftly removed the unwanted hair using a red colored thread. Though the process only takes five minutes, it can be a bit of prolonged agony. But as least I wasn't a hairy freak anymore. Well I still need to get the eyebrows done . . .

* * *
Oh my. One of the funnier articles to come out of the Guardian:

"With the high spring temperatures in Rome, putting a corpse on display without preservatives for four days might seem a high-risk strategy. There are plenty of tales from history of exploding bodies (Henry VIII was apparently quite spectacular) and disintegrating cadavers (Pius XII turned black in 1958 and his nose fell off - and that was in October)."

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