birthday, wax, boycott

Today my husband is 29 years old. This means that I have known him for over 8 years. I remember spending his 21st birthday with him in the Old Market Lofts at a tenant roof party we weren’t invited to. Steve won an accent wall that we later gave to an actual tenant. Next, we were invited to a balding man’s loft for some celebratory spiced rum (celebrating Steve’s birthday, not the accent wall).

I like birthday traditions. We don’t have many yet, but every year I buy him an ice cream cake. I buy the big one usually used for actual birthday parties because we’ve been known to eat this as a meal.
I finished running the birthday present errands of picking up booze and cigars on time this year, so over lunch I stopped to get my eyebrows waxed. Steve had just asked the other day how long it had been since my last wax; he told me he doesn’t usually notice but I had definite traces of a unibrow this time. Say no more, I get it.

I love the efficiency of the eyebrow wax: two minutes of quick follicle ripping and you’re done. However, there is always that one minute of tweezing the strays afterward. I laid there thinking about how painful each tweezer pull was, my eyes watering. And then I reminded myself that I’ve had a baby so I need to stop being a pussy about some eyebrow tweezing. But do keep in mind that if I wanted to tweeze, I wouldn’t go in and get my eyebrows waxed in the first place.

Do you know what was on tonight? The season 10 premier of the Biggest Loser. And remember when I said I was boycotting it? Well my smart little DVR box remember to record it from last season’s settings. But when I saw it was recording, I deleted it. I held my ground. I don’t need to watch another season of hour-long weigh-ins with people crying when they drop double digits in a week saying, “I used to eat 12 ding dongs a day, I never thought I could do it!” (that very concise summary of the show is courtesy of the Birthday Boy).