"Sweet mother of God, why do you hate me so!" and other things I wish I could tell my parlour didi

I dread parlour visits. And not just because I end up spending an exorbitant amount of money, but because my parlour lady is one judgemental woman!

I know you can relate to it. I mean the way these women stare, it makes me want to reconsider my existence! Sometimes I feel that my nosy neighbourhood aunties, the ones I hate so much, are angels in front of the evil parlourwali aunty!

Oh, and as if spending so much money wasn't problematic enough, it's literally painful to sit on that chair. I tell you, each parlour visit is like a test for my threshold for pain.

If you ladies are sailing on the same painful boat as I am, you'll probably relate to these five thoughts every woman goes through while at the salon.

When The Parlor Lady Asks You When Was The Last Time You Waxed Your Moustache
Yes I have a pretty thick moustache, and I'm actually proud of it. I remember how in school my guy friends used to joke "mooche ho to teri jaisi ho, warna na ho". It was a little offensive at that time, hell it still is. But body hair has never quite bothered me that much. And it's not like I have a full grown stache!

You know what? My lips get lonely sometimes. And sometimes I just like running my finger on my upper lip, marvelling at that sweet little lady moustache I have.

However, the way my parlour lady asks me about the last time I got rid of my lip's best bud, I feel like digging a hole into the ground and disappearing forever. Even when she knows that I have a pretty busy work life, and that I visit her almost every 15 days, she makes it a point to ask me that dreadful question. Ugh!

When She Judges Your Arms For Being The Way They Are
I am terrified of waxing. No I really am. And I'm not even scared of horror movies. But waxing? Waxing scares the bejusus out of me!

Okay, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I am scared. I do have a high threshold for pain, but sometimes the pain exceeds my threshold. Oh and also, there have been instances when I have gotten a little burnt than usual. Scary, right?

But you know what I'm most scared of? Being judged by the parlour lady. The way my parlour lady gasps at my hand at the sight of ingrowth or tanning can scare the bravest of the bravest souls. I mean I'm not paying to have her remind how terrible my skin is, or how dry it is, or that I should have come to her centuries ago!

When Your Eyebrows are Stick Thin And It's Too Late To Kill Yourself
So I have a slight unibrow that I never, I mean never get rid of, simply because I love it. Yes, yes, I know it won't make look like Kajol, not that I would mind, I just hate how my face looks without that little hairy bridge.

Also I should tell you here that I was born with quite perfectly arched eyebrows, so it would actually take a genius to ruin it. But, guess what? Not only have numerous parlor ladies managed to ruin that, but have also made my eyebrows so thin that it seemed I didn't have them from a distance.

Before you say that I should instruct them better, let me tell you that I constantly nag them for it. I even gave up on beauty parlours and resorted to plucking and shaping my own eyebrows. But, I realized I never had that kind of time to sit and do that.

So back to completely f*cked up eyebrows. *internally screaming*

When You Get Lectured On the Cons Of Shaving
Let's be honest here, at moments of sheer desperation, we have often gone to the trusty razor for that last minute touch up. I know I have. So every time my parlour lady tells me how "dangerous" shaving is, and how it's leading to more ingrowth, I die of guilt. Also what is with this dialogue: "aapko last time bhi to bola tha." So much judgement, so much humiliation.

Yes, yes, I'm thinking of changing my parlour. That woman is just too evil.

When You Realize You Have Fallen In To The Trap Of Society's Standards Of Beauty
The society wants you to be hairless. Hell, it wants you to be so hairless that even the TV ads for razors don't show a woman's leg with hair! Hair is scandalous, hair can bring on the apocalypse.

As much as I am pro body hair (like I mentioned earlier with my love for my moustache), I like to wear sleeveless clothes with my underarms and arms shaved.

I also understand that I endure so much pain (financial and physical) just to fit society's arbitrary standards of beauty. But the tragic subsequent revelation that hits me is despite knowing all that I have no idea how to stop.

It's hard being a girl. It's harder when you have to go to the parlour.