Before I tell you my tale of woe, it must be mentioned that I recently had a birthday. I turned a number that is extremely close to another that should not be said out loud.
Sometime in December I went to a spa for a facial. It was intended to be a day of relaxation after a very busy and hectic few months. I lay there, snug in my spa blanket with warm steam pouring over my face as my esthetician examined my skin. She asked me if I had any concerns, trouble areas, things I wanted her to focus on. I told her that, for the most part, I was happy with my skin. I was starting to see some wrinkles around my eyes and I have two deep valleys between by eyebrows that I call my “mom face”. Only Botox will fix those valleys and I wasn’t there for Botox, so let’s just continue.
Then I started to think a little more. Well, there are the little hairs on my chin that have a determination to thrive like non I’ve seen. And then there is the peach fuzz along my jaw line where some of the hairs are longer than peach fuzz should be. Oh, and I’ve started to notice some hairs (be they slight) around my upper lip. Those hairs around my upper lip are were the most concerning to me. Not so much that they are there but for what they signify.
See, up until now I’ve always passed over the “anti-aging” products in the makeup aisle. Anti-aging products are for women whose skin is aging and now they want to halt or slow down that process. These little hairs that persist are calling to tell me that my skin no longer looks like it’s 21 any more. They have opened the door to the “anti-aging” section and are inviting me in. Those little hairs are not going away on their own, as I age and over time as hormones change (again) they will only make themselves more present. I realized right there on the spa table that I was officially in the “anti-aging” product phase of my life. The door on youthful, young looking skin that comes naturally had closed behind me.
I was advised that there were two options to rid myself of hair (if I didn’t want to go the expensive route). One was a little electric razor type device. That sounded too much like the electric razor that Dear Husband uses to trim his beard. I don’t want a beard. The next option was wax. After much discussion and gnashing of teeth, we decided to wax those troubling areas…and my eyebrows for good measure. Zip, zip and before you can say “tar and feather” I was as smooth as a hairless cat. After that ordeal we proceeded on to the facial that I had originally come in for.
During the mask portion of the facial I felt a slight tingle on my chin. It didn’t burn or hurt so I didn’t feel the need to alert my gal. Well, I must have a high tolerance for pain because not long after I got home that area where I felt the tingling started to turn red. Then it turned more red, and more. By that night I had what I can best describe as a chemical burn on my chin. In the course of a week the burned skin dried up and flaked off but not before I had to attend Dear Husband’s office Christmas party. Imagine a hoity-toity cocktail party full of office admins, academic types and me with my burned chin. Just wonderful. It only took about 3 glasses of champagne before I had to stop fighting the urge to cover up my face. Liquid confidence does the trick every time.
I treated the burn with Young Living Lavender Essential Oil and patience. Eventually the old skin flaked off and after about a week the new skin stopped looking tight and red and turned into normal skin. Thankfully everything is back to normal now but I leaned a valuable lesson: never follow up a wax with a factual.