I Waxed My Own Lip and Started the Next Wave of Feminism
In the year of our lord and savior Simone De Beauvoir 2019, it shouldn’t matter if women have a little fuzz on their upper lip, yet for hairy brunettes everywhere, it definitely does. Even though it’s winter and you need a helping hand to keep that one inch of skin nice and toasty, I realized that no one is going to want to plant a wet one on me with a five o’clock shadow. Instead of giving in to beauty standards (because that is so 2015), I decided to take the illusion of power into my own hands by waxing it myself and bringing in the fourth wave of feminism.
I didn’t mean to trigger this massive wave of women’s empowerment. I was just too lazy to call and make a waxing appointment. I have a prepaid package and everything. I just didn’t want to. But ever since I paid .75 on the dollar for a box of adhesives to mutilate myself in the interest of being baby smooth, Women’s Studies majors have been approaching me left and right to thank me on my work for the feminist movement. Apparently we have equal pay now? You’re welcome.
It hurt like a bitch and I definitely gave myself a first-degree burn. The waxing kit did a pretty decent job for basically hardened cement glue between two strips of unforgiving plastic. I know what cement glue is now because I’ve been empowered to go to Home Depot a lot recently. My upper lip is completely raw and I can’t fully open my mouth to make “O” sounds, but I just got a call from Gloria Steinem and she said that she thinks all feminism will be intersectional because of it. She said that women everywhere are throwing out their mirrors.
I traded in my subscription at the waxing salon for a deductible at patient’s first for a skin graft, and I’ve never felt sexier. I was sick and tired of the beautician asking me “upper lip, too?” so I thought bigger. Why just the upper lip? Why not the world? I think my next kissing partner will be delighted to know that, no, that’s not hair on my lip, it’s just a bunch of small scabs.