Try Something New . . . or NOT

So upon turning 40 a few months ago, and pondering on reaching life goals, I was conversing with my dear friend and neighbor about things I still had left to accomplish. Only a few months away from finishing a Master's degree I had debated since my 30th birthday, I had one check on the list. Other accomplishments from things to do before you die: marry decent man for love and attempt to raise decent children - check, and still a work in progress . . . . get boobs - check, and also still a work in progress as they are officially three weeks old and I am in love again . . . and then came hair. I have Italian ancestry - need I say more? Between hormones shifting post baby and perimenopause - a new term I've learned all about - the ten or so years before pre-menopause (who thinks this stuff up??) I've had to contemplate hair removal. The arrival to Texas and the need to bare legs for many, many days at a time led to laser hair removal and worth every penny. I jumped on that band wagon within a few months of arriving and have never looked back. Eyebrows and upper lip - frequent part of female grooming and a non issue. Post baby chin whiskers - not feminine but controllable with a pair of tweezers - at least for the time being. But arms - hadn't really thought about them much. In the white zone of a Canadian winter, I had tried bleach once when I had to go to a formal Xmas event and the dark shadow that was usually blonde in the summer (thanks to the sun) stood out a little too much and I tried bleaching for the event. Worked out fine, but not something I'd ever had much of a desire to repeat as I usually wasn't walking around in a formal gown, nor short sleeves. But in Dallas, long sleeves rarely occur (except this winter which is Calgary relived!) So back to the discussion with girlfriend neighbor, another Italian ancestry kind of girl: Get Nair on those arms. I googled and researched reviews and read that Veet was much more year 2000 than Nair, so I gave it a whirl. One comment I read over and over was NOT to use the plastic razor wipe off thing that came with it as it will cut you to pieces. Who ever follows directions? So my first Veet effort left me telling people I had a few fights with my rose bushes, which they believed because I'm always fixing my garden. Removing Veet from arms needs to be done in the shower with a pair of scrubby mitts. After that, beauty and a convert. But the story does NOT end here.

Now that I view my self as a Jaguar (the sexier version of a Cougar, because I'm 40, classy and at peace with my self rather than 30 and, well, Cougarish) and sporting the new rack - which is hardly substantial but still perfect - I get the Veet pump to fix up the arms while standing in the shower. I look down. I wonder what Veet would do to "the patch". I proceed. I'm sure some where the directions said DO NOT do this. I do. Every nook and cranny. I'm on a role. I've never been so brave with a razor, so why now, with a chemical???? The minutes tick by. I wash. I get the scrubby mitts going after I comb off the major top coat. Nasty combination that was! And then reality hit. Some body parts were NOT meant to be touched by chemical. Holy Crap. Nothing pretty to look at down there. Reminded me of moments before birthing (even if I did end up with C sections) - over stimulation and swelling to the max. I'm sure this is way too much info, but I do it for your own good. Never, I repeat, Never, Veet the Bush. Bikini line, sure, bring it on. Veet the intimate dealings - Never. Ever. Ever. Do add pain to my already not so aware misery, I decided to make use of my clean and fresh moment and bring on husband. Worked well until the post shower. This time HOLY CRAP needs to be in caps. Have I said NEVER, EVER enough yet to make my point?? I will also be banned from any form of future husbandly encounters now for the next few weeks as the Sand Paper effect kicks in. So I pass my Yoda wisdom of 40 on to you. Use wisely young Jedi!!!