I don't use this for the purpose stated on the box.
I use it to polish the upholstery in my car.
I felt I needed to clarify that.
I think the title of my post should be my Hobbit name. At least DeNae the Beardless. Or maybe Pinkchin Smoothcheek.
But that's entirely beside the point.
The other day, I was on the phone with Elisa Scharton, catching up on -- well, everything, which as you know can sometimes take weeks -- when suddenly and without warning, my phone died.
Right in the middle of a very important story about a thing which I've since forgotten.
So I dashed into my room to get the charger (which I brilliantly keep attached to a mile-long extension cord, making my cell phone as convenient as Alexander Graham Bell's original) and that's when I smelled the wax.
I'd put a jar of facial wax on a candle warmer to get all gooey while I did a bit of writing -- this was before Elisa called and we moved on to more entertaining activities -- and I could smell that it was perfectly goo-ified.
I had a doctor's appointment in maybe 45 minutes, but I knew that E and I were really only getting warmed up, what with our having been on the phone a mere two hours thus far.
But the wax was ready.
And I was seeing red in my beard again.
And no woman should ever have to use the word "beard" when discussing her own personal face.
So I put Elisa on speaker and waxed my whole face clean off. Well, not my whole face. My mouth was still there, yammering on about my sister Amber.
Amber is also Elisa's friend, and I was filling E in on Amber's life, which always includes at least three bladder-control moments because Amber is so unbelievably funny.
Anyway, I finished waxing, and now it was time to take the straightener to my hair on accounta it was standing at full attention on top of my head.
But the outlet was full of candle warmer cord and phone charger cord. The candle warmer had to go.
I picked up the candle warmer -- with the jar of hot wax still open and on the plate because I'm lazy like that -- and it tripped over all the other cords (both plugged and unplugged) that had nested on my counter.
And the wax jar tipped into an open drawer, cascading wax all over the place like a waxifall.
This was Brett's drawer. A very, very sacred drawer. It holds his razor blades ("no touchy!"), his favorite comb that I'm sure he's had since his mission, and his spare toothbrush which cost more than our first car.
So, without missing a beat or a syllable or any of the important things that were happening, I snatched the jar out of the drawer and spirited it across the counter to sit atop the toilet in time out where it could think about how naughty it had been -- dripping wax along the way and generally deflowering the sink, the toilet paper, and the flusher.
Then it was time to rescue the flood victims. A bottle of sunscreen was sealed shut, never to be re-opened until the resurrection of the just. And everything else?
Fused. Fossilized. Gah-LUED to the bottom of the drawer. The poor little comb said, "After all that time together -- the heat and frustration and excessive beef consumption in Argentina, the dark months when he parted his hair in the middle, that terrible, interminable loss during his child-rearing years -- this is how it ends?"
And I said, "Shut up. Combs can't talk."
So after doing what I could for the hapless contents of the sacred drawer (namely, throwing them all away in the outside garbage where they would never be found and I could say, "Hmm. All disappeared, huh? That is odd" without remorse because I'm a stone-cold waxer and I don't care who knows it) I slapped on some makeup, ran the straightener through my hair, and dashed out the door, cell phone in hand, prattling on and on as though a Vesuvian catastrophe had not just played itself out all over my bathroom.
And Elisa didn't have a clue. Am I good or what??
Brett, on the other hand, has sustained a terrible shock. It doesn't help that his drawer now looks like this:
Note the absence of comb, razor blades, and toothbrush.
A lesser, inferior toothbrush can be seen huddling next to the shampoo bottle,
but it knows it'll never measure up.
I told him he did it, but he doesn't seem to remember how or when. We're working through it.
Meanwhile, I gotta say, my chin has never been smoother.
And Elisa? She's doing great. Thanks for asking.