January  5th — As many know, I have an ongoing battle with unwanted facial hair.  Wily eyebrows.  Sneaky lip hair.  An errant mole hair. And now, I have a single dark hair sprouting on my neck – boy, do I have to keep an eye on that one. It’s quite inconvenient and on occasion, time consuming.  I spend lots of time with state-of-the-art tweezers (I have three kinds, but my fave is by Laura Mercier) gazing into my triple magnification mirror looking for the next hairy trespassers.  My normal defense is waxing and tweezing.   In high school I had two unfortunate unwanted hair incidents (UHIs) – one involved Jolene Cream Bleach on my lip and the other involved Nair on my eyebrow (which resulted in my mother coloring in the missing part of my brow for the better part of a semester).

 

For the last few years, I’ve also been going to an anesthetist (please know that I didn’t spell that correctly as I can hardly pronounce it correctly) for a light derma-peel that involves a straight edge razor that gently scrapes (i.e. – “exfoliates”) the top layer of gray, dead skin to reveal, with proper nudging and chemical nourishment, the dewy layer of skin underneath. It makes my face look radiant (well, that’s what I tell myself after I chuck out several bills for the privilege.) And it’s great stand in for waxing and tweezing.

 

It wasn’t until recently that it occurred to me that what she’s really doing is shaving my face. I admit, it’s a really unappealing idea to consider, but that’s what she does. No woman, however hairy, wants to admit that she’s as hairy as her husband and thus requires a shave.  That’s too hairy and simply too much.  But Brad has great skin where he shaves – it’s healthy, clean, smooth and, most important, hair-free.  

 

So I wondered, while staring in my triple magnifying mirror and pondering how I was going to appease my husband with some serious cost cutting in the new year – why can’t I just do that? What can that cute anesthetist at my skin care center do with a straight edge that I can’t do with a Venus razor? I’m not shaving, friends, I’m shavefoliating…removing dead skin to reveal the dewy layer underneath.  The fact that I’m keeping that durn lip hair and neck hair at bay is simply a lucky byproduct of my fab new skin care regimen modeled after the professionals, I might add.  I’m taking of me and it’s not costing a penny.

 

So, I started shaving, I mean shavefoliating.  I know, I can’t believe it either.

 

It was weird at first, I admit. But so far, so good. No, I don’t shave my entire face, that would be silly – and thankfully, unnecessary.  And I don’t shave my eyebrows, I’m still recovering from the unfortunate incident with Nair.  I do a few little zips on the upper lip and one on the neck in case my little friend has any wise ideas and I’m done.  It’s been great.

 

Until this morning.  This morning, I cut my face while shavefoliating.  It bled. I was horror-struck – would it scab? Would it scar? Would people notice my lame attempt to shavefoliate?  This home experiment took on a whole new dimension when I imagined myself at the bridge table with a scrap of toilet paper stuck to my face to stanch the bleeding.   Hmmm, perhaps I need to reconsider.

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