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Pain prevalant in world of beauty

Brock Bybee Dixie Sun Opinion Editor

I have often marveled at the great pains and trials women go through to make themselves look, in a word, beautiful.

I have often marveled at the great pains and trials women go through to make themselves look, in a word, beautiful.

It boggles the mind. It is an enigma to me. I’ve never quite been able to figure it out. Now keep in mind as you read this that I’m not naive to the female organism. I have 11 sisters. Yes, you read that correctly, 11. My home was a sanctuary for gossip, makeup and shoes. Yet still, after 17 years of living with these creatures, I never understood why women go through such pains in order to make themselves look more attractive to the opposite sex.

So, to try to unlock this mystery that has so puzzled me, I attempted to endure some of the procedures that women go through. I hope that much laughter follows.

The first thing I had done was a facial. That wasn’t so bad. It was refreshing in a way. The goo they flung on me was not that bad. The problem that I had was the after effects. Good gracious, it burned so badly; I felt that someone had rubbed stinging nettle all over my face. They said it would have a little irritation. I felt like I had just removed my head from a hornet’s nest. I don’t know the purpose or point behind the mud facial mask, but to me it felt like someone blew his nose on me, then lit my face on fire. Not cool.

Item number two: acrylic nails. For some reason, I don’t know why, my cousin talked me into being a model for her beauty school boards. Don’t ask me how I agreed to it; I am pretty sure I was either unconscious or had drunk to much Dr. Pepper when I complied. In any accord, I was strapped down to a manicurist’s table and told if I moved I would be shot. These beauticians take things seriously. I had no idea how acrylic nails were applied or where they came from. The thought that more goo would be pasted on my fingers, which would then harden into a shell didn’t make sense in my head. Nevertheless, she went forward.

This situation was similar to the goo pack on my face. The application was all right actually. I didn’t mind it. I was pretty proud of my nails; they were red I might add. A few hours after the process was completed I was checking them out at a gas station. While I was modeling to myself, a car of ridiculously gorgeous girls drove by and for a few seconds, stared back in awe at how stupid I looked. They proceeded to laugh hysterically and drive away in a mocking fashion. You can imagine my frustration having just falsely exemplified my character as a burly 6-foot-5-inch giant who looks nice with cherry red nails. In a mad flash of hysterics I tried to break Satan’s grips from my fingernails. The pain that ensued was tear-jerking. It felt as though someone was pounding the ends of my hands with a hammer. Never in my life have I endured such pain.

Until the next treatment.

A few nights ago I was coaxed into an awkward position by two jezebel sophomores, Laura George and Erin Taylor. We were sitting around their house when the topic of waxing came up, which then turned into them luring me into getting my armpits waxed. I felt I was comfortable enough with myself, and well, man enough to go through such an ordeal. But, as most men are in every given situation, I was completely wrong.

"Oh, it won’t hurt at all," they cooed as they poured boiling hot wax on my arms, "You won’t feel a thing."

The next 10 minutes are all a blur to me. I remember a painful tear of flesh, me kicking a couch, and many screams of agony.

Now, let me call attention to something here. I am a very clumsy person. This gift that the Lord has blessed me with has incurred many, many injuries and painful experiences. I’m no stranger to anguish. I also am a pretty tough person. I’ve played numerous sports ever since I can remember my name, so I’m not ignorant to injury either. May I say that the pain and hurt that followed having this wax ripped out of my armpits was excruciating, something I could never have prepared for. I don’t think there are words to describe my feelings toward this horrendous procedure.

As I lay there writhing in agony on the floor, both Laura and Erin were laughing through tears at the sight of me in pain, much similar to the laugh the girls had at the gas station while I was admiring my nails. How could they be so humored at something like this? This was life or death! I don’t have armpit hair anymore. And to them, it was all a grand joke.

In the end I don’t think I learned a thing. The torture that women put themselves through in order to look good I don’t think will ever be understood or comprehended by the male mind. I think I gave a valid attempt, but it was all in vain. I guess it just re-insured my constant that women, as a whole, make no sense at all. The thought that they would put themselves through these horrific ordeals for the sake of fashion and still be afraid of an insect is beyond me. I guess I’ll just take a number with the rest of the male population who will remain lost.

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posted by Cheryl Levesque @ 2:01 PM