I hired a professional eyebrow tamer today. My brows have given me grief for years and finally today I got up the nerve to have them waxed. I wish I had inherited my mother's nice brows. But God saw fit to give me my dad's. They're neither symmetrical nor submissive. I'd heard horror stories about people getting burned by the hot wax and scabbing over. That fear has kept me from something I now know is going to bless my life forever. What was my final motivation? Curt bent my tweezers and they no longer grasp accurately. Here's a confession. They're really nice tweezers from Sephora that my sister spent a pretty penny on before I stole them several years ago. I admit it. I flat-out stole them. Sorry, Noogie. That's probably when she clued in to the wonders of wax. Since I didn't have time to go to a nice Sephora-worthy mall and replace them today, I decided to take the plunge at this place in our local (very mediocre) mall. It wasn't that bad during the process. The warm wax actually felt really nice before it was ripped from my skin. It was afterward when I was walking through Old Navy that my skin started burning and becoming bright red. It was rather humiliating, but since I had gone to all the trouble to leave the house, I didn't want to give up yet.
I was supposed to head to church after the mall, but I simply couldn't face everyone with such obvious I've-just-been-waxed red stripes. Thankfully, Jackson started screaming the minute we got in the car and did not stop for a long time. He missed his afternoon nap (because he just learned to stand in his crib and that's WAY more exciting than sleep) and was in a spectacularly frightful mood. I thought I'd spare the nursery workers and just stay home. So instead of going to church I watched America's Next Top Model and One Tree Hill, which I never get to see. What sacrifices I make to be a minister's wife!