Threading: My Hairy Adventure


Threading. Heard of it? My daughter Maddy recently had her eyebrows threaded and despite the pain, she was hooked. I was impressed! Her brows look fan-freakin’-tastic! Seriously amazing. Hmmm. While I’m a strong believer in waxing, I have to admit I was curious. And feeling a little George Clooney-ish at the time.

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We headed to Exquisite Threading a few miles from home. Maddy promised to hold my hand. Before I knew it, I was in a comfy chair bravely offering up my fuzzy twin caterpillars to the stranger before me. Her name was Sonja. Lovely, petite and with a soft accent, she appeared harmless enough.

Before I could say Sasquatch, Sonja whipped out her spool of cotton string, twisted it around her fingers and clamped the free end between her chompers. It was go time.

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There is no adequate way to describe how threading feels. The twisted cotton thread rips every single hair captured in its sadistic embrace straight from the follicle. It hurts like hell. You will try not to flinch. Yes, you will try. But it is impossible. Experts like Sonja know to move quickly, so there isn’t much time to react. I was forcing myself not to get physically combative — truth is I wanted to kick her. Hard.

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Alternating between grimacing, yelping, and awkward giggles, I tried to act cool. But then, before I knew it, Sonja moved up and started threading MY ENTIRE FOREHEAD. Was I really so beastly up there? I stopped her and asked if that was normal, and if people ever had their entire faces threaded. Guess what. Turns out that they do, and that the “full face” just happened to be on special that very day.

Committed to this painful adventure in vanity, I told her to go for it.

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I need to stop here for a moment and collect myself. Because no amount of pain – none of it – comes even close to the pain of threading the ladystache I didn’t even know I had. Each wisp of hair ripped from my lip area felt like I was being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles. Tears were running down my cheeks.

At one point, Maddy pointed at the cloud of my downy face fur floating in the air. An explosive laugh burst out and I accidentally launched a spitball in her face, which caused us both to go into a fit of hysterics.

Check out the fuzz! Clearly, I have some Yeti in my DNA:

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I certainly didn’t want Sonja to be distracted, and I was in that crazy/frightening state of laughing and crying at the same time, so I tearfully sent my chuckling hand holder away from the hairy crime scene.

Sonja never stopped moving. Compared to my lip area, the cheeks didn’t hurt at all. “This isn’t too bad, I commented when Sonja attacked my neck with her expert smoothing moves. I felt like I was redeeming myself from my earlier childish behavior.

“Stop talking,” she commanded, “or the thread will cut your neck.”

Dear Jesus.

I stopped chatting. The rest is a blur and it was over relatively quickly. Sonja promised me two things: The first time hurts the most, and I won’t grow a beard in place of my facial fuzzies.

I paid her, tipped generously, and picked out a butterscotch Dum Dum from the treat bowl. Like a pacifier, it calmed me. I walked out of the salon with my head held high. My newly streamlined face cut through the evening breeze with no resistance. Score one for beauty.

I’ve been dying to get this story off my chest since Friday. Yes, it hurt. But the results are amazing. My face has never been smoother. Sonja, get your killer thread ready, because I’ll be back.

Eyebrow wax? You are dead to me.

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