waxing

I haven't shaved in over two weeks, though you'd never know it. At the end of the first week, I had a thick growth of beard, with a generous percentage of grey, and I was ready for an experiment.

Catherine had had me promise to allow her to wax my face. You read that right: she waxed my face. That is, she spread hot wax on it, and then ripped it off, pulling out all the hair by the roots.

Yes, it hurt. It hurt more than anything I've ever experienced in my life. And this is coming from someone who's experienced a urethral camera, a radical orchiectomy, chemotherapy, and South Asian mass transit. Yes, it bled. Most of the blood came from stress: I'd be gritting my teeth and grabbing the floor, getting ready for the next rip, and Catherine would exclaim that my face was blooming with blood, the pressure having burst forth from my newly traumatized pores.

But it's all over now, and my face is smooth as can be for a good long while now. Being the guy I am, I've also provided you with some pictures to look at:

Keep in mind that the wax lies on the surface of the skin, so all the hair that was growing out of the skin is covered in wax. What you see sticking up here is all root — that was all beneath the skin! Amelia suggested that I use one of them as a toothbrush. No thanks.