To boldly go where no boy has gone before

Sigh! I just stared at my last post and thought.. hmmm, I haven’t kept my promise really. It’s been nearly two weeks since I wrote here, and in these two weeks, I have been working my ass off, doing some freelance writing (some good, some bad, some ugly). Now, why would I write stuff that doesn’t make me happy, considering that there is no pressure from the OPU to contribute to the family vacation or the son’s school fees or the house we may never buy, I don’t know. I just thought it was about time I earned some money, felt it, smelt it (I had forgotten what cheques in my name felt like).  I also thought I would have another answer to “What do you do all day?” to the morons who still ask me. Also, I am a bit superstitious and remembered my mother’s advice of never saying no to Goddess Lakshmi when she knocks, and she’s been knocking quite hard these days. Although I have decided that now that the ugly stuff is out of the way (mostly) , I will only focus on the good and the very good, so that at least I am not ashamed of sharing it with you if I haven’t had the time to blog.

Long story short — I am sorry I have not blogged as often as I would have loved to, which is everyday. Why blog, I hardly had time to get rid of my mustache, or wax my legs. So last week, on my way to the park with Re, I just decided to stop by at the local parlour and get rid of my fuzz.

I realised it couldn’t really hurt him to know what women go through for epilation and other beauty regimes, but it didn’t go down well.  First, he was most upset that one woman clamped me to a monster-like chair and was going at me with a thread, knocking the hair off on my upper lip, while the other applied hot wax to my legs and kept stripping the hair clean. In a few minutes, he was bawling. I realised it was so the wrong call, but I couldn’t let them stop and walk off with half a mustache and one waxed leg. So I kept braving it,  assuring him that ‘Mommy no hurt!” or that “Auntie making mommy pretty” and other such banal crap, but he wouldn’t bite. It was a bawl fest, and one little boy with all his testosterone managed to silence the oestrogen kingdom.

And then I was reminded of something I wrote when he was born, when I was disappointed that it was a boy, since I was rooting for a girl all along.  It suddenly made me realise how absolved he was from all the waxing, threading, and other forms of epilation that we women have to go through. Unless of course he sprouts hair on his chest like Anil Kapoor, but given the genetic pool, that is not likely to happen.

It seemed a bit unfair that he was actually granted an exemption from epilation and I was jealous of the years and years of unprepared shorts and singlets he had in front of him. The other day I saw a little girl with hairy legs and arms and although she was barely four, I couldn’t stop myself from wincing, trying to imagine her first waxing experience.

I felt secretly happy I had a boy and there was one less thing to worry about. But then, there is a different kind of pain in being a man. In any case, I don’t have to think of it now. Plus, it will be his problem. Or so I hope.

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