They Only Come Out At Night

So- I had a metric crap-ton of errands to run the other day. Since many of them could be loosely described as 'work related' (What? I wear shoes at work.....and there was a sale! Back off) it only seemed reasonable that I get them done during my conference period and lunch. It really is convenient that the two flow together, let me tell you! If I did my errands after work, that would mean I would have to postpone the meeting of The Great C-dub. Simply, out of the question.

Anyhow-Earlier that day, on my drive to work, I made the upsetting discovery that my eyebrows and she-stache were a little more out of control than I normally allow them to be. Since there was a salon in the same parking lot, I stopped to remedy the situation ASAP.


In perfect Vietnenglish the lady said to me, "You sure you don't want me wax the rest, whole face?"

I stammered about with various renditions of, "UUhhhunnn ohhh, whaa? Work. Go. No thank you." In my mind I was thinking, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EFFING MEAN?"

She didn't say, "Do you want me to...," like it was an off the cuff remark. She said, "Are you sure you don't want me to...." Like I should really put some some thought into this, if I have not yet done so.

Is it possible? Could I have survived 31 years of life, being pretty self aware, almost bordering on self conscious, and not known that I look like this?

Seriously? What. The. Hell.

Shoot. I knew I should have given Jacob more of a chance.