As a follow-up to my Growing Up Is Hard to Do missive from the en of November, I thought it would be relevant to share this little adventure with you. So, long story short, I’m trying to embrace my adulthood, shed the cartoon tee’s and double entrendre sayings emblazoned on my shirts for more age appropriate apparel. To that end, I’m also stepping up the personal hair care and over-all Hilary maintenance, which means, instead of hoarding my gift cards for manicures/pedicures/facials etc., for a rainy day, I’m actually going to use them. Even if it means getting a babysitter to do so.

I first started plucking my eyebrows in 12th grade, courtesy of one Tanya Habib. For some reason, that was the year that the senior lounge at Mount Saint Mary Academy became an impromptu eyebrow plucking center. You couldn’t go in there without someone either getting their brows done or asking where Tanya was so that she could do it for them. Of course, there were those studious ones among us who were actually reviewing flash cards and notes for class, but c’mon, we’re high school girls. Ahhhh, memories. Going forward, I’ve never been one to let my brows get super crack-tastic. I mean, I’m not trying to look like I’ve got Chia Pets sprouting out over my eyes. I try to keep them pretty full and neat. There was one time where I let this make-up artist pluck my brows for a photo shoot. When he came at me with a Bic Razor, I knew I was in trouble.

“Something old,
Something new,
Something borrowed,
Something blue.
Hot wax upon your skin,
Rip it off ‘fore married life’s to begin.
Wax along the bikini line,
Guarantees a marriage divine.”