The quest for beauty: does it ever end? Based on my own scientific research, uh, no. It's on-going. Luckily for me, I have my own beauty team at my beck and call. Sadly, the numbers have dwindled. There used to be four involved with the maintenance of the SJG. A while back, my facialist quit in a huff. "I can't deal with these pores any longer," she said. "Plus, it would be nice if you paid for my services."
"Isn't my delightful presence payment enough?" The answer, post-expletive: N followed by O. Next to go: my pedicurist. "Your toes insult my intelligence," she said in Vietnamese. "Plus, I told you no freebies after the first visit. It's been three years without even a tip. A girl needs to eat." Fine. Be that way. Somehow my face and my feet have held on to their assigned positions without the help of experts. I handle my own punim now. I do my own damn pedicures. No one has made a citizen's arrest yet. My 'do, however, requires constant attention.
Once dubbed "baby fine thin kaka hair" by an ex-member of my team, this short, choppy, flyaway mess baffles the majority of licensed professionals. Many have thrown their scissors in the air and bolted in fear. Only Renee has the courage and skill to make my hair obey. There are potions and chants, candles and a lengthy ceremonial dance involved. Beyond that, it's anyone's guess how she turns my impossible hair into freakin' art. By the time I'm out the door, the spell breaks and my hair reverts to its usual state of disaster. While I'm in Renee's chair, trust me, I look amazing. The second member of the team: Lenny. He colors me, he highlights me, he puts me into bankruptcy. I'm so worth it. Wouldn't you agree? The Beauty Team. Two strong and holding. It's a big responsibility, keeping me gorgeous, month after month. Thanks, guys. You done good.
No comments:
Post a Comment