Chanelle’s Institute de Beauty and House of Hair Removal

I was in the car with Mum the other day when she asked “How is your blogging going?” A few of her mates had commented to her that I had been a bit quiet on the writing scene.

“I think I have used up all my words….” I explained. I believed that I had told all the stories I had needed to tell, and I was looking at what I could do next. I had been watching a bit of RSPCA rescue and becoming an inspector was looking quite good, but I would end up with a houseful of dogs and cats and I think Mr. Woog would take umbrage with the situation.

But such is life, when remarkable things happen, there will always be more stories to tell.

Like what happened to me yesterday.

I had taken Mum along to see her surgeon for she is getting a new knee because the old one had a blow out. We were enjoying the traditional hour wait in the waiting room, reading a Tatler from 1994, when I went to replace it with another and almost tripped over my moustache.

NARRATOR “The writer is prone to exaggeration.”

I told Mum I needed to go and run some errands and that I would be back in half an hour. I walked down the road, with the gentle breeze reminding my that me beard could probably use some attention, before arriving at Chanelle’s Institute de Beauty and House of Hair Removal. Into the wax room I went, followed by the lovely waxing lady who was quite excited by the challenge I presented to her. I lay down on the bed while she started to prepare.

All in all, quite an unremarkable scenario.

But then it unfolded. A situation that was unpleasant, unescapable and seemingly, never-ending.

How can I put this nicely. My waxer was a card-carrying member of Club Halitosis. I know, my haters are going to joyfully point out to me the irony of me being grossed out my someone else’s unfortunate ailment, WHILE I GROW FACIAL HAIR LIKE A YETI, so allow me to continue.

Ok, so halitosis, more commonly known as bad breath, is unpleasant to deal with in normal situations, am I right? Small interactions, such as paying for your groceries or signing for a package, that can be tolerated. But to be stuck laying down, with a lady twirling wax on a paddle pop stick over your nose WHILE BLOWING ON IT TO COOL THE WAX DOWN, well there was just no way of escaping the breath, let alone the fact that it was being blown directly up my nostrils!

I am not going to go into anymore details because halitosis is an unfortunate ailment, but let me just end by saying that it took twelve trips back to the waxing pot to deal with my situation.

Do you think that beauty is pain?

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