Thursday, October 7, 2010

Full Disclosure


Disclaimer: If you don't want to know the dirty dark secrets of women and their struggle with unwanted hair - stop reading now. This disclaimer may be particularly pertinent to those men in my life that read my blog. You might not want to know what I am going to tell you.

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Ok ladies. Here we go. Back in my original yikes-this-is-me post, you know, the one with the face shot, I mentioned that I was going to have a couple of skin treatments done.

For that effort, I met with the aesthetician and went onto a Obagi regime of applying nightly Obagi Blender and prescription Retin A. Wow. What an amazing product. I need to take another face shot, but the Obagi blender, a skin lightener, actually did away with my two hormonally induced (I blame Mirena) melasma spots on my cheeks. My skin looks great. My pores have shrunk, I've had no acne, and I look good even without makeup (if I do say so myself).

That was step 1.

Tomorrow I start step 2.

Back in the 1990's Rosie O'Donnell pulled at a hair on her chin, had the camera zoom in, and showed the world the long dark black hair that was growing out of her face. I was an impressionable teenager, home from school in the afternoon, and I distinctly remember thinking to myself - "GROSS!" How does a woman have a dark black hair like THAT growing out of her face? (I have tried to locate a clip of that for this blog, thankfully, cyberspace wants to forget that clip as much as I do.)

Fast Forward to 2010. I am waging a war against those little black hair... hair... hairs. Ok. There it is. Hairs. I HATE them. I mean, really, really, really, hate them. I pluck. I bleach. I pluck some more. They keep coming back. They keep getting darker. Tomorrow, I am getting nuclear on them.

Welcome to IPL. That would be, Intense Pulsed Light. You may have seen this on the Kardashian reality show. I am told that one of the episodes showed the procedure. In my radical post-babies-new-Mara makeover, I have signed up. Tomorrow I will go where no Eddy woman (as far as I know) has gone before. I am praying for a radical permanent intervention so that a peace treaty between me and my tweezers can be achieved. I will put down the artillery for a permanent, even just 80%, hair removal. Done. No more. Don't grow back. See ya.

It is the 1st of 6 treatments. It is completely extravagant and I love my husband for letting me splurge on eradicating this little black secret, ahem, hairs, which will do leaps and bounds for my happiness.

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