Hair Removal

Diary of a Hair Remover: Underarm-ember

I used my Viss on Tuesday night, and this has to be the first time I have used it in quite a while. It all came about because ES hasn’t seen his mum for a few months now and he was talking about going to see his parents. After umming and ahhing for quite some time he decided that he would go and see them on Wednesday instead. So you can imagine my surprise upon leaving work on Tuesday to receive a text that said “I’m in Nairn.” For those of you not familiar with the typography of Northern Scotland, that is about 95 miles away from Aberdeen in a north-westerly direction.

Ah, I thought, he’s gone to see his parents tonight after-all, then muttered something sarcastic about how I find it difficult to cope when I am overloaded with information as to his whereabouts. As a positive side effect of all this was that I was able to get on with some chores in relative peace and quiet, namely firing intense bursts of light at the follicles on my legs (a lengthy discussion here ensued about whether follicles are ‘in’ or ‘on’ your skin, or whether I should describe it as ‘legs’ rather than ‘skin’, and is it ‘in ones legs’ or ‘on ones legs’…? I went with ‘on my legs’, comments welcome). So, as I settled down to some vintage Sex and the City wearing my green VISS shades, therein turning SJPs complexion a strange shade normally reserved for Halloween, I thought, ah… Bliss!

I must say that I have been a little disappointed by my hair loss, almost certainly not a sentiment that crosses the mind of the likes of Ross Kemp and Donald Trump. My legs are pretty much the same as my last update, i.e. patchy and not in favour of being patchy with regards to hair, rather the patches are the bald bits… My arm pits, on the other hand, are still stubbornly refusing to co-operate, as such I have named the right one ‘Julian’ and the left one ‘Assange’, and should the hair wish to take a long holiday in Ecuador I would have absolutely no objections. Sadly, I think it will be holing itself up in the Embassy that is my underarms for many years to come.

The one success in all this seems to have been my bikini line which has been remarkably susceptible to the treatment. Why on earth my body can’t just accept that it is one entity and react all in the same way is a mystery to me. As I keep saying, the treatment is meant to be most effective on light skin types and dark hair, so quite frankly I cannot understand why my underarm hair can’t emigrate to the same place as most of my bikini line. Ecuador or Sweden, honestly, I wouldn’t mind!

Unfortunately due to the illiteracy of my arm pits (they are no longer a metaphor for Mr Assange and I couldn’t possibly comment on his ability to read and write or otherwise) they will never read this, and possibly never grasp how desperately I want the fugitives that they are harbouring to piss off.

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