I remember learning basic facts about mammals in elementary school: they have warm blood, live births, and body hair. I’m sure there are exceptions to these rules, but I am not a biologist nor am I here to discuss biology.
It is a quirk of western society that we should want to rid ourselves of body hair, especially when we identify as female. Although I’m a firm believer in doing whatever makes you happy (all the hair, no hair, or some happy medium), I have wondered if it’s worth a few minutes of pain to give the razor a rest. Yes, friends, I am referring to waxing: a practice in which you spread goop on yourself and yank it off, revealing bare skin. Ideally, I would go to a licensed esthetician who would get the job done; however, in the era of COVID when non-essential businesses have been closed or offering limited services, going to a salon continues to be difficult.
So! Much like my tresses, I decided to experiment. To pay respects to the title of this post, I have opted to tell the tale in poetry.
There was a young blogger named Mary
Who wanted to do something scary
She purchased a pot
Of wax and then got
To work on becoming less hairy
She chose to begin with her face
Because there was plenty of space
To use all the strips
That came in the kit
And RIP! There was no time to waste
She saw her brows as subpar
For they looked like caterpill-ars
She warmed up the wax
And placed it on flat
But WHOOPS! She went in too far!
She promptly went to her spouse
And said to him, quiet as a mouse
“I think that I may
Have gone quite astray”
And his laughter shook their whole house
I suppose I could also talk briefly about waxing my legs. I don’t have quite as much to say, so these haiku ought to suffice:
When waxing one’s legs
Be sure to buy coconut
Oil for stickiness
You will likely bruise
But this is somewhat normal
If you’re sensitive
Stick around next week as I delve into the good, the bad and the repulsive finds of online clothes shopping!