Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Before eyebrow waxing                       After eyebrow waxing

Yesterday I walked into my hair salon a little late for my scheduled eyebrow waxing, my first ever. I expected to be sent right up, but they had me sit on a chair to wait, so I flipped through a bridal magazine and tried not to psyche myself out too much.

My sister has been getting her eyebrows done for several years now, and I even watched her have it done once. But I've put it off, because my eyebrows are fairly light and it wasn't overly pressing.

I'll have to admit, though, every time I saw someone have their eyebrows shaped on TLC's What Not to Wear, I wondered how much of a difference it would make with me. So when the Clinique consultant suggested last weekend that I have it done, I decided to finally take the plunge.

Since this was my first time and she wouldn't be there, my sister had given me some advice, telling me, for example, to take in a picture of someone who has eyebrows similar to the shape I want. I found an ad in Bust magazine, the feminist women's magazine, of a woman with natural looking brows like I wanted.

The aesthetician, a young blonde woman, greeted me with a cheery hello. She had a pronounced European accent, although I couldn't place it at first. Not until I mentioned that my sister, who took after the Polish side of our family, had started getting her eyebrows done several years ago. That's when she revealed that she's Polish!

I showed her the picture and explained that I was looking for just a little shaping, keeping a very natural look. She examined my eyebrows and told me that they wouldn't require much, and she assured me that she'd keep them natural. I followed her into a little room that reminded me very much of my dad's osteopathic office, down to the paper tissue roll across the leather examination table, and the narrow, medical looking counter where she kept her supplies, next to a sink.

I lay back, and she brought a lighted mirror close to my face, the same type that dentist hygienists use. She chatted cheerfully while she prepared, reassuring me that it wouldn't be too bad. Starting with a razor, she trimmed the longer parts of my virgin brows, then applied some hot wax along the line she was shaping. The wax itself actually felt good; not too hot but more like a facial mask. Only when she applied a strip to the area and then ripped up did I feel a momentary hot sting, a bit like ripping a Band-Aid off a hairy appendage but a little more intense.

Instead of talking incessantly, I took my cues from her, mainly answering her questions. I didn't want to distract her from her work, which I figured took a certain amount of concentration. She congratulated me on my upcoming wedding and revealed she's been married four years. If so, she must have been married young, because she looked like she was in her early 20s.

When she asked about my grandfather, who was Polish, I had to admit that he'd passed on. I told her where his family came from, and she said it wasn't far from her hometown, in the north of Poland near Lithuania.

The whole process took about 10 to 15 minutes, and despite the stinging from the wax removal, wasn't too bad. When she'd finished, she joked, "There. You're done, and you didn't even cry."

She handed me a hand mirror, which was one of those highly magnifying mirrors that aren't terribly flattering. My face looked distorted, and it was hard to gauge how her work looked. Then I peered in the mirror over the sink and was pleasantly surprised. "Wow," that looks great," I said.

"Yes, I kept you natural," she said. She'd done exactly what she promised.

As she wrote out the bill, I told her I would be making an appointment soon for a facial, which I wanted to try out in midsummer and then perhaps again closer to the wedding. She peered closely at my face and told me I'd only need a refresher, since my skin was good. I told her that I've been trying to take care of it, with a daily cleansing and moisturizing routine.

She advised having my eyebrows done about once a month and said I'll know when it's time because I'll see growth coming back in. I'm sure I'll get into the habit, and soon it will be as natural as scheduling a hair cut.

Since my sister couldn't be there for support, I'd taken before and after pictures, which I e-mailed her. She and my sister-in-law (my sister is visiting my brother's family in Vermont) wrote back that they liked the change and that it suited me. They even said it makes me look younger.

For someone who, only a few short years ago, was an unabashed hippie who distrusted anything remotely associated with beauty regimens, I've learned a lot recently. And you know what? I feel pretty!

This morning after The Gryphon and I had breakfast in Center City, I picked up our wedding invitations and RSVP's, which I ordered from a Philadelphia graphics company, Fabulous Stationery.

We'd chosen one of their designs back when I was looking for stationery possibilities, and recently, we'd finally ordered them. When we did, we had a little trouble figuring out how to fit all of the information we needed into their RSVP template, but after several phone calls, they agreed to do a custom card for us with more than the usual number of lines.

So when I picked them up today, I was a little nervous. What if something had gone horribly wrong? But aside from them making a minor grammatical change to the way we'd phrased something on the RSVP, the order looked great. I called The Gryphon and talked to him about it, and we agreed not to have them change the wording. No one but us was likely to notice anyway.

Of course, when I got home and took a nap, my imagination got a little overactive. I dreamed that I had the invitations with me at some meeting where The Gryphon would be joining me shortly. The room looked very much like the modern looking office where I'd picked up the order.

The Dormouse, who's one of our groomsmen, walked in, and I showed him the invitations. He complimented me on them. At this point in the dream, they looked pretty much the way they had in real life.

But when The Gryphon arrived, I opened the box to show him and discovered a problem. Someon had written on one of the RSVPs. Then, flipping through them, I discovered another one someone had written on. The stack of invitations was even worse. Almost all of them were torn or dirty, and one was even a flattened rubber cube, like a child's bath toy!

I began to fret, since it meant I would have to get a refund and start all over with another vendor. And what's more, I felt guilty because I'd chosen the invitations and talked The Gryphon into them (this much is true).

Oddly, I was awakened by a doorbell and went outside to find a package from another stationer, from whom we bought our thank-you cards. They were in excellent condition. On an impulse, I spot-checked the invitations again, too. Everything was fine. Thank goodness! The last thing I want to do is send someone a rubber bath toy instead of an invite!

More on Alyce's wedding planning:

Musings on Alyce's Wedding

Copyright 2006 by Alyce Wilson

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