Thursday, 21 March 2013
Life As We Mo' It. (AKA My Life As Napoleon Dynamite)
I've been stalling sharing this story.
For over a month.
Why? Because I have felt so humiliated, it's only just recently I decided to "come out" - and what a freaking relief that was.
A couple of months ago I went to see my beautician. It was a balmy, summery day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing - all was well in the world. I was heading for two hours of pampering, and I couldn't wait.
That was until I lay down on the bed and my beautician announced that she was going to bleach my moustache.
I lay there, in a state of shock, half frozen on the table, half naked (actually more than half naked) under the towel - and I'd just been told I had a moustache.
Let's rewind a bit right this minute. My sisters and I have talked about this extensively, I've talked about it with friends - and united we stand when we've all said "If I start to grow a mo' - you need to tell me." We all nodded our heads furiously, agreeing with an emphatic "Yes, of course."
And there I was, in a white room, under a white towel, on a white bed - with a dirty dark mo'. Say it ain't so.
AND NO ONE HAD TOLD ME! What the funk, "friends"?
I was there for a facial which is like a biannual thing that happens, and before I could get comfortable I'd been side-swiped, so of course for the next two hours - that is all I could think of.
Once it was over (and after 20 minutes of having my eyes closed, I start to get antsy - multiple this by 120 due to the facial hair factor and I wanted OUT), I looked in the mirror and said the obligatory "Wow, it looks so much better" with visions of this in my mind.
Now I was sporting a blonde moustache. Where once I thought my mo' was just that faint hair that covers everyone's face, I was now a bonafide Napoleon Dynamite doppelganger. In fact, I don't even think Napoleon Dynamite has a moustache - so now I was not even Napoleon Dynamite, but his little known older brother.
Nevertheless, I paid, scurried out - and convinced myself that no one would notice except for me - you know that thing that if you don't talk about it - no one will notice. Yes. That old chestnut.
Next stop was to see my sister - and of course I couldn't contain my humiliation. I burst out with my hairy upper lip story - and she denied ever seeing any mo' action. And then I went to an appointment, purely focussed on my blonde mo'.
Fast forward now, to a month down the track, and I talk to my sister - who finally admits that -
a) she had never noticed I had a mo' and would definitely tell me if she had
b) the bleaching episode made any traces of a mo' stand out more - and that it had done nothing to hide the hair but highlight it.
It's here that I say, Marilyn Monroe used to apply hormone cream to her face to aid in the growth of facial hair to diffuse the light when she was photographed - which is how she always got that gorgeous glow, that luminescence in all her shots.
I, on the other hand, have foundation that contains luminising particles. No need to grow a yeti beard.
So now, here I am, with the bleach faded (thank goodness, I now don't have a glow in the dark mo') wondering what to do. Bleach? Wax? Do I really have a mo'? Am I Frida? Do tell. Do you have a mo'?
And PS - when you see me next, please do not study my top lip. Please. Have mercy on me.