I hate stubble. Yes, there are cool hi-tech ways of removing it, but I have light-colored facial hair. So, lasers don’t work very well, and besides I can’t afford anything more pricey than wax. Wax hurts, but it works!
I’ve been diligently waxing myself from the neck down, for the past three years. By now, my body is for the most part smooth and hairless. The hair follicles have basically given up trying, and what little hair still grows on me is mostly sparse, light and golden-colored — very feminine. This has worked because I have let the hair grow out long enough for the wax to grip, and rip out by the root. Since the body hair was covered by clothing, there was no problem with growing it out long enough so as to be able to wax it.
The same principle works for facial hair, but I’ve been more reluctant to grow it out so as to be able to rip it out by the root with wax. Reason: I hate stubble and I especially hate being out in public with stubble. However, it’s time to be disciplined and get on with it, so now I have a steady routine of growing out my facial hair and then waxing it away. Eventually (soon?) I won’t have to do this any more, as the hair follicles are weakening or dying. I can hardly wait.
As a result, some days I might look like a pretty-enough girl with big fake boobs, long lashes and long blonde hair, but … I also have stubble. Yeah, it looks weird. I know.
As planned, when I’m just about to wax, it’s 4-day old stubble, and I hate it even more then. I try to schedule my waxing sessions so that I’m at home alone over the weekend when the stuff is extra long, and I either stay in or I only venture out only late at night. Yes, it really bothers me that much.
So, this morning (being Sunday) I was maybe a day or two away from having grown the stuff out long enough to wax it, when my phone rang. A dear friend of mine had just returned back to the US from abroad. Although for the first few days since her return, her car behaved, today it refused to start. So, her phone call to me was a polite cry for help. Since I know how to fix cars, I packed my tools and dressed relatively elegantly, in a nice top and a long skirt — sort of like a society lady albeit with stubble. There wasn’t time for me to put on make-up because the lady had to be at an appointment soon. I was tempted to shave but this would have killed this week’s waxing session — and besides there wasn’t time. Off to Reno I went, stubble and all, to save the day.
Swapping in a fresh battery didn’t fix the car, and the lady needed to go somewhere for an important hour-long appointment, so I drove her there. During that hour, I got hungry and since I was near one of my favorite restaurants, I decided to be brave. I went in. I got some odd looks from customers, but the staff was wonderfully nice to me. I was as friendly as I always am when I have smooth skin. It all worked out OK. The friendly treatment registered with me emotionally, and the funny looks somehow didn’t bother me. I liked that.
Unfortunately, the car saga remained problematic and as part of being a helpful friend, I ended up making several visits to other businesses in Reno during the remainder of the day. The last trip was to a Wal-Mart in a nice neighborhood. By then I didn’t just have stubble but also grease and old oil on my clothes, hands and face. I was probably the most peculiar-looking person who’s been at that Wal-Mart in quite a while.
I thought back to three years ago, when I was excruciatingly embarrassed to stand in the cosmetic aisle at Wal-Mart even though it was late at night and the place was almost deserted. I looked 100% male and I was looking at fingernail polish, and I was fearing that doing so might “out” me as a transgender girl.
By contrast, how openly I was “out” today, ironically again at a Wal-Mart, reminds me of the “attagirl” phrase of “you’ve come a long way, baby.”
Indeed, I have. And it was nice to realize this.