I am not a fussy, high maintenance kind of girl. The one thing I do routinely to tend to myself and my grooming is get my brows waxed. I was born with the most unfortunate unibrow, and it took me well into adulthood to learn that I could actually do something about it. I suppose that furry caterpillar across my brow finally blossomed along with the rest of me to become the butterfly I was meant to be.
I’ve been going to the same waxing place for 14 years now. The women are lovely and they always ask about my sons, even remembering their ages. They are funny and sweet and ever so efficient. And most importantly, they do a fantastic job on my eyebrows. Yet I feel a bit uneasy each time I leave. The thing is, every time I go in they ask if I want a lip wax. And my answer is always the same. No. The woman doing my eyebrows just smiles politely and nods her head and carries on.
Then she starts speaking in her native tongue All the other women there who are tending to someone’s feet for a pedicure or hands for a manicure start chiming in. It’s suddenly a flurry of excited voices chirping in high pitched tones. I listen to their voices crescendoing in a language I do not understand. The only thing I do understand is what seems like every other word spoken in English, “lip wax.” And then they chatter on and on again. And then I hear lip wax thrown about again. Blah blah lip wax blah blah blah blah lip wax…
I stiffen. I know they are talking about me. I have no idea what they are saying but I can surmise they are saying that this Indian chick really needs a lip wax and I’m going to keep asking her every single time until she relents and finally does it. I sit there quietly, eyes shut, brimming with shame and a tish of annoyance, pinching the palms of my hands in an effort to thwart the pain and think of something other than this room full of women judging my hairy upper lip.