I think its about time it was dragged out of the closet and exposed.
I have one word for it, actually two, it sucks.
Actually make that three words. It sucks balls.
I would apologise to any men that might be reading this, if I cared what they think, but I don’t, so I’m not going to. Suck it up boys.
As I said. Menopause sucks balls. big hairy ones.
I started “it” when I was 41. Thats 12 years ago….. They never tell you that it can last a decade or more. In fact they don’t tell you anything about it. We are left floundering in the dark when we get to around 40 ish and start having all these weird things happening to our body. All these 18 and 19 year olds think that a period is the worst thing in the world. Girls, you haven’t got a bloody clue.
Bloody hell. Its bad enough we start to think we’re going to bleed to death for 30 days at a time. But there’s the itching, the skin crawling, the “personal dryness” (yeah, that’s awesome), the weight gain (Please explain to me how you can weigh, lets say 102kg one day – go out to dinner, eat a salad, have 2 or 3 or 8 drinks and put on 3 kg overnight!!). There are the hot flushes, or as I like to call it “My own personal summertime”. You learn to dress in layers, because sure as shit you’ll be out and it will hit and you will be stripping off clothing faster than any exotic dancer ever could.
And then, there is the bane of my life. The hair thing.
What the fuck! I swear I could grow a beard if I just let it be for a week or two. And you don’t want to know where else these little bastards start sprouting from.
Anyway, the whole point of this is that I started getting my chin waxed last year because menopause decided that I should grow stubble faster than my husband.
I have never been waxed before then. I would stand in front of the mirror, cursing my hormones while plucking each individual sharp little whisker out of my chin. But then I discovered waxing. I quickly got used to the eye watering sting as each hair is ripped from its little nesting place. In fact I started having my legs and armpits waxed too. It seemed to do the trick. For about 4 weeks, and then they would poke their nasty little black pointy heads out of my skin and I would have to do it all again.
Then one day.. A light shone upon my bristly face. The Laser Lounge. All shiny and new and close to home. Laser. Now, normally I would cringe at the thought of having some sort of radiation type laser pointed at me, but these were desperate times. So I did it.
I made an appointment.
So there I am sitting on a bed that reminds me of the one at my gynecologists office except that this time I’m actually looking the person in the eye and not at the ceiling, and my knees are not up around my boobs. She’s running through what it all involves. Showing me pictures of all the different types of lasers that there are and what they are for. I’m thinking, please just get to the hair frying laser.
She checks my chin, running her fingers through my hair (which was not as pleasant as it sounds), jotting down notes on a clipboard.. Really? You need to make notes? I’m over 50, I’m menopausal and I’m growing a beard.
Anyway. She tells me that the lasers only will work on the dark hair. Which OK, I get. It appears I have a mixture of light and dark. Aren’t I the lucky one. Salt and pepper whiskers. She gives me the price and tells me I have to stop plucking and waxing for three weeks and then come back.
She clearly must be insane because I could pretty much grow a fumanchu beard in that amount of time. I looked at her, and she must have read my mind because she said you can shave or trim in the meantime. At least she thought she could read my mind, and she was partly right. Part of it was thinking, I can’t possibly go outside if I have to let this stuff grow. The other part of my brain was thinking that I was really hungry and wanted to go across to the food hall in the shopping centre and grab a burger. But anyway, I managed to drag my thoughts away from the burger, and acknowledge what she was saying.
So off I went. It was at that moment that my hormones went into overdrive and decided to push these little wire-like objects out of my face at a rapid rate. I secretly used my sons trimmer to keep them at in manageable state for the next three weeks. And then, the big day arrived.
I entered the salon with joy in my heart and a skip in my step and was greeted with a bunch of forms and a release. A release…. clearing them of any negligence if something went wrong, like my face blew up or got third degree burns, or whatever. I signed my whiskers over to them and lay down on that bed.
She busied herself with dials and contraptions. Pointing out what things were for. Lovey, I don’t care, just zap those mothers already!
So there I am with my adorable purple shades on, staring at the ceiling, while she retrims the evil hairs that grew overnight. She presses this round thing against my face and says, some people say it feels cold. Cold my arse. I held my breath as the first zap hit my unsuspecting follicles. It was like an electric shock, followed by the smell of burning eyebrows. You know that smell, when hubby turns on the gas on the barbeque and takes a bit too long to light it and it sort of explodes? Or maybe that’s just mine.
Anyway, I flinched the first time, and she hesitated. Just get on with it already, before I change my mind and go running out of the salon with my fumanchu intact! It only took about five minutes and she had zapped the offending hairs thoroughly. The underside of my chin was tingling as she wiped some sort of anti-burn gel on it – what? and then applied sunscreen and I was told to sit up.
She handed me a list of do’s and dont’s which included not getting any sun on my face. Really? It’s like 38 degrees Celcius outside right now and I had to walk to the car, drive home, hang out the washing….well that can wait I guess. So there I am driving home with my tshirt pulled up over the bottom half of my face because now I’m paranoid of getting any sun on my newly fried chin.
Happily, I was spared the embarrassment of a bright red, or blistered chin. The burning smell faded and I was able to go out later that night and nobody was the wiser that I had been zapped that morning.
So what happens? The theory is that the laser travels down the hair and into the follicle at the bottom, hopefully kicking its little hairy butt into oblivion. Over the next few weeks, the hair that is already growing will get pushed up out of your face and fall out. Now, because when you are menopausal, your hormones go on a rampage and pretty much do what ever they want. So just because she zapped my chin that day, there could be a whole other bunch of whiskers just waiting to sprout. Thus meaning I need to go back for another one or two session, approximately four weeks apart. Am I keen? Hell no. But if it means getting rid of this bloody beard, I’ll do it!
Wish me luck!