Are you freaking KIDDING me?!
First I turn FORTY—as if that is NOT bad enough—and then I go to get my eyebrows waxed when the lady doesn’t seem to think that IT (turning 40) is FITTING enough–but now she must POINT OUT and ASK…
“ARE YOU ALSO HERE TO GET YOUR MUSTACHE WAXED????”
My laser eyes and deadly stare did NOTHING to hinder her from asking again, “AND YOUR MUSTACHE????”
I gasped as if I still have my 18-year-old glow and youth and not a STRAY whisker ANYWHERE on my face and answered her, “MY MUSTACHE????!!!! I don’t have a mustache!!!!!” And huffed loudly as I threw my awesome body (okay, lowered myself gently due to my aching back) onto the waxing lounge and pointed out that “I DO NOT, under any circumstances, WANT CRAZY TRENDY EYEBROWS! JUST SIMPLE WAXING…please.”
Before I got off the chair, she, DAFT AS A…???? Well, who knows what—something daft… ASKED AGAIN, “Are you sure you don’t want the mustache waxed???”
Yes, LADY! Very sure…
Or, I mean, do I have a mustache????
Go to mirror…
Squint, really, since my eyes are not the best.
Still can’t see. Turn glasses crooked on my nose so that I can see (all bi-focal style)…and re-peer.
Surely that is not a mustache, it’s simply glitter, right?!?!?! A light glistening above my upper lip????
And, so with indignance, I walk PROUDLY out of that salon…
Mustache and all.