I’m not one to follow the crowd; actually, I’ve never followed the crowd. Case and point: my friends jumped out of an airplane – I stayed on the ground and took pictures.
The one thing that has gone through my friendship circle is laser hair removal.
And I totally got on that bandwagon this afternoon.
For a small fortune (I don’t even want to tell you how much it was because it is….well…..a lot of money), I am paying a physician’s assistant to basically cauterize my hair follicles with a laser beam. The benefit? I will have bare underarms and bikini line. Oh yes, it’s permanent. I have 8 appointments left, spaced out every other month. And an interest-free payment plan. Woo.
Why on earth did I want to have this done? One, I live at the beach and spend most of my summers in a bikini. I know, someday I won’t be rockin’ a bikini bod anymore – but I will do everything in my power to keep it in shape enough to do so – but even one pieces require a bit a “property maintenance,” as a good friend likes to say. I’ve waxed for years, but honestly, I’m not very good at it. And then there’s that whole “grow it out” phase that really puts a crimp in my style mid-July. Two, I like the spontaneity of said beach days and hate worrying about it. I get bumpy. It gets upset with the salt/sand/sweat/bacteria. I’m pretty tomboyish at the core and I don’t always notice until I’m at the beach. “Hey, who’s that French girl?” “Fur is murder!” The underarms speak for themselves: dresses, tank tops, halters; I’ll never again have to worry if I shaved. I’m normally against cosmetic procedures – and outside of my tattoos – I’ve never done anything like this before. Hell, I’ve never had a manicure or pedicure. Or had my hair professionally dyed: just that color correction 3 days before my wedding. Yup, this is the same girl who once shaved in a gas station bathroom (with razors bought in said gas station with soap from the dispenser) in the backlot of an midwestern city because there was a chance of……beach. Yeah, defiantly beach. Gotta love those lakes.
So I took the plunge. The PA was very nice. I can’t say I’ve ever had an up close and personal discussion with a woman concerning my bikini line, but now I can. The laser hurt and you could actually see the “lightning” come out of it, zapping away dreaded hairs. The PA described it like getting hit with oil droplets from a pan on the stove. Incredibly accurate. My underarms were burning. My bikini line weathered it much better (all those years of waxing, perhaps?). I have a high pain tolerance, so as long as I remembered to breathe I was fine.
The General’s take on all this? “It costs how much?” as his eyes get wide and he looks at me sideways, quickly followed up with, “Well, it’s your money. Do what you want. I love you the way you are.” So sweet. Despite this, he is really pleased with the results. Heh heh.
My One Word for the year is grow. This seems to be the opposite of that. And the irony doesn’t bother me for some reason.