I seldom leave home. I do mean seldom...maybe once every year or two. In the interim, things tend to slide. I write in my jammies, run around the house in sloppy shorts and tee shirt, shave my legs when I get around to it.
Usually, the "getting ready" process is a mad dash to beauty salons, nail salons, etc. until I am more or less presentable. This time my daughter is here to help out. Actually, I think she always wanted one of those dollies she could style and makeup and now that she has me instead she's having a wonderful time making me over.
I've mentioned on my blog on more than one occasion the problems I have with my beard. The beauty salon declined to wax it because it would possibly cause too much damage to my skin. Shaving on a daily basis is something only men should have to do. And bleaching just leaves we with a long white beard.
So we purchased a tub of wax and yesterday we began the arduous process of giving me a clean chin. I inherited a heavy beard from my maternal grandfather. Little did I know when I watched him stropping his straight razor twice a day that I would face dealing with the same heavy growth pattern.
Working in small patches to minimize the skin damage on my face, she slathered warm wax on my goatee and ripped away. Did it hurt? Yes, but not nearly as much as it did at the beauty salon. I still have a crop of short little whiskers left, but our plan was a second go round in a few days, so I'm pleased with the progress.
There's still the eyebrows to do, but they'll wait until closer to departure time. And of course, we have the hair to trim and color (cause goodness knows no one can tell that I'm getting OLD!) Manicure and pedicure. And too bad she can't arrange to remove a few inches from my backside, but so far her miracle working has been stymied in that area.
Heh. I'll be so beautiful no one will recognize me when I get there. Until then...