Being a woman is not for the fault of the heart. I've been one all my life and I can talk about a hard-won experience. Since we were born, we are adorned with cute bows in our hair and small undergarments with ruffles that cross our buttocks. Some of us have our ears pierced even before we know we have ears.
When girls reach the age of toddlers, we have all kinds of fun toys to introduce us to the world of hair and makeup. Little Tikes has a purse full of hair curlers, toy lipstick and nail polish, and even a little compact. There are small boas and feather hats, and small glittering heels. Our toddlers can dress as blind drag queens while they push their baby dolls into the stroller.
When you are not yet a teenager and you do not feel like a kid anymore, you discover a whole new world of makeup, nails and hair. There are pony tails with the hair already in it. Childhood friends like Tinkerbell and Hannah Montana want you to buy their bubble bath and artificial nails. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen have their own line of cosmetics. Even if you are a follower of a small stipend, you can go to the local pharmacy and buy nail polish and lip gloss of 0.88 cent, provided they're the size of A cracker of oysters, but they sell like crazy.
Being a teenager is always a difficult time, and when you're a teenager, it's like entering a whole new level of hell. You must start to worry about your complexion, your weight, your hair, your clothes, what everyone thinks about your complexion, your weight, your hair, and you can see the picture.
You must also start the long life drama of hair removal. For me, it was a slow form of torture. I come from a family where women have five clock shadows on their legs. This always makes hair removal difficult when your hair has the texture and thickness of the steel wool.
I started to shave, and it worked well, I am so happy that my blood clots accelerate quickly or that I will never get out of my 15th year. I saw an advertisement for Nads, the pretty lady with the beautiful Australian accent, smoothing the green glaze on a guy who looked like the double cascade of Chewbacca, and then tore it as clean as possible. I brought him home and tried it, all I could think was that they had to have this hairy guy sedated, because I had the impression to swallow my tongue when i tore off that first piece of goo. It was so painful that I could only do one cap. I went back to my old booth shaking.
I then saw this announcement for a wonderful new machine that looked like an electric razor but had a metal coil instead. The overly cheerful lady promised that my hair would be "washed away" quickly and painlessly. I hurried out and arranged my 39.95. I turned it on and pressed it on my ankle. I think this device was originally invented for the Nazi camps. Because if I had war secrets, I would have overthrown them right away. The reel actually ripped my hair out of the follicles, leaving small, bloody holes. I could only do my ankle. I could not have the courage to use it again. I walked around with small pimples on my ankle for two weeks while my skin healed. I bought it at the store for a refund and the customer service representative informed me that all the sold epi devices were back. Evidentially, it was not only my poor tolerance for pain, the other women could not stand it either.
Men sometimes see women as fragile and delicate creatures. I'd love to put a man to the epi lady's challenge, or a hair removal session and see how much he thinks women are fragile after that. We are passing through hair removal, constant makeup trends, uncomfortable shoes, tight clothing, dyeing our hair with chemicals so strong that they are peeling off the wall paint of the bathroom . And why do we do it? To get some compliments from our men? Not really, I like to look good for myself. And of course, the occasional call of wolves from a construction site has never hurt either.