Dirty Little Secret #44

I just waxed my face. At home.

I'd keep it a secret, but the little tiny wax strips that so beautifully altered my upper lip and eyebrows left those same spots puffy and red. The ready-to-use face wax strips were, indeed, ready to use. And simple. And did I mention oh-so-painful?

It's come to a pretty pass. I've spent some time boasting here about my blatant disregard for societal norms of female beauty - no preening, no regular hair-styling or fancy handbag. No black high heels.

But the real truth is that I struggle. While I wear my frugal wardrobe without thought, the studied lack of care to my appearance is just that: studied. I wear my own inattention to my physical person like a costume.

When Lizzy was born, I sought to pare down my existence. Unloading my suits and formal wear, throwing out my hair products, packing away our decorative items around the house - cleaning out my closets helped me feel like I was cleaning out my soul. Forgive the clumsy metaphor, but it was akin to a spiritual enema.

Gross.

Anyway, it was easy to resist luxuries. Our finances simply did not allow for them. My hair was cut twice a year. I wore the same pair of sneakers for four years - until they had holes in them. I wore tees and jeans from Old Navy because they were practical and affordable. It was simple, especially since in Minnesota we had no station in life. We were the family of a medical fellow, and they aren't invited to black tie charity auctions.

And now we are.

The problem is two-fold: Dirk is now a real physician in a private practice and my family is...well-known in town. Our newly-minted social engagement calendar is so full for the month of December that I have to turn down invitations. My children now have two regular baby-sitters. I need new shoes. And dresses.

And I need to wax the extraneous hair from my face.

In June, I posted about my fear of change. It's here, evident in my new focus on the shape of my brows.