I let my middle son watch me wax the 'stache tonight and I think I may have traumatized him more than the kid I let watch me give birth.
Since the Dad 2.013 Movember team STILL hasn't seen far enough passed their stupid patriarchy to invite the 25th sexiest dad blogger of all time* to join their team, I figured I'd better deforest ye old kisser I leave in a few days for a blog trip with Simple Human. You know, best lip forward and all.
Aside: Apologies in advance if you follow me on twitter, because my Type A and Squirrel! are about to collide in 140-character intervals. Me, two days, SIMPLE HUMAN. Organized, highly functional, and shiny? Organized and orgasm are almost the same word for a reason, my friends.
So my son comes waltzing into my bathroom like it's Grand Central Station right after I've applied the first glob of wax on my face because Newton proved that children are physically incapable of coming in right when I've squirted the first bit of toilet bowl cleaner in. Instead they are forced, by powers beyond their comprehension, to wait like a lion in the grass for the most idealically uncomfortable moment to strike - the one in which I am totally helpless to avoid scarring them for the rest of their lives.
At least there aren't tampons involved anymore.
So he comes in singing Peanut Butter Jelly Time with no shirt on, because, and stops cold. Mom, what the H are you doing? he kind of asks, kind of demands. Glass houses, dancing queen. Glass. Houses. I'm waxing, I explain to him, and he says that he thought I was JOKING all this time but I assure him, oh no, if he's lucky, he'll take after his momma in the facial hair department. He asked if it hurt and I said like a bleep-fo, and he said OOOO, CAN I SEE? and I said yes, because.
I rip the wax off my lip and he jumps five inches backwards. His whole face went into buttchill-spasms. It. Was. Awesome.
I don't think anything in the whole entire world will create the deep-rooted respect, admiration, and abject fear of women in a man-child that letting him watch a woman give birth does, but I'm pretty sure that letting them watch a woman wax for a business trip comes in a close, and slightly less awkward in their teen years, second.
He asked why I would do such a thing to myself, and I told him it was partly to look professional and put together on my trip, but mostly so that I could play with all the hairs sticking straight up in the wax, and then we had our Biore Pore Strip on Crack moment together.
Normal Rockwell would have killed to be a fly on my bathroom wall today, I tell you what.