A diva confesses

No, I'm not here to once again confess that I've been a bad diva for not writing enough. You already know that - hardly a confession!

Instead, I write today to discuss something I rarely talk about but that haunts me on a daily basis. I can barely look in the mirror without obsessing over it. I see it, and I know others can potentially see it too, if they look for it. I think of all the different ways I could deal with it, then attempt to go about my day as best I can.

My confession?

I kinda have a moustache.

Now before you start picturing me with crazy black hairs sprouting in every direction from my pretty upper lip, stop yourself. Back that truck up and allow me to explain.

First, it's a somewhat blonde 'stache, thankfully. There are a few thicker, coarser, black hairs, you know the ones - they just keep coming back despite repeated pluckings. But generally speaking I can keep them at bay with my handy dandy tweezers. Fabulously painful tool, those tweezers.

But tweeze my entire upper lip I simply cannot. Too many hairs, most of them fine and lightly coloured, and just too much pain to pull them all out one by one. My pain threshold just ain't that high.

So what's a diva to do? On occasion I'll splurge and spend an extra $8 to get the upper lip waxed when I'm out getting my mani pedi. But wax and I aren't always the best of friends.

No, that waxy bitch leaves behind a whole host of other issues. Sure, the hair may be gone, but it its wake is left a trail of blemishes (that's fancy diva talk for zits) that overtake my upper lip area.

WTF?

Drives me nuts.

And they're painful blemishes too. Darn right! As if the searing (albeit short lived, thank goodness) agony of the initial rip isn't enough, now I have to put up with the nasty prolonged annoyance of zits lining the rim of my sexy pout.

Kinda takes all the sexy right out of the equation!

So. Where does that leave me, other than either hairy or zitty? How's that for being between a rock and a hard place?

Recently I've become aware of a product called Parissa (I think?). Yes, they're wax strips, but the at home kind. I'm left to wonder if the at home kind can possibly be better for you than the spa-grade wax, but I sense I'm about to find out.

I've had the stuff in my possession for almost a week now, but I can't quite get myself to open the package, let alone try it out. I want to, don't get me wrong. Every glimpse of mine hairy reflection in the mirror makes me want to rip open that package with increasing abandon.

But as always, I'm worried about the repercussions. What if I try it and my face stays red all through the next day? Or I break out in hives? Or some other dermatological misfortune befalls me? How do I show myself to the world? Sit on the GO train? Actually turn up at work? Yeesh.

Luckily, I'm about to enter into a three and a half day weekend. So I think I'll give it a whirl tomorrow afternoon and see what happens, let this be my science experiment for the month. I'll be sure to fill you all in and let you know how things turn out.

If you have any other suggestions on how to manage the wee forest that grows unwelcome on my otherwise happy face, I'm definitely open to suggestion!

And if you're one of the gal pals I'll be seeing for our bbq on Saturday, don't laugh too hard if things don't turn out right, okay? I mean, you'll be able to tell just by looking at me, that's for sure.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?