Once upon a weekend trip with Grampa and Gramma to the deep pine-scented forest, most of us were basking in the ultra-rare opportunity to do absolutely nothing, but Pixie was, as mythologics tend to be, overflowing with livingness, and wanting to explore.
Because of Pixie's size, or more precisely the lack thereof, she was only allowed to go where we could see her. (Everybody knows how easy it was for Captain Hook to capture Tinkerbell, and we didn't want our own pixie tossed into some pirate's lantern.) The density of the foliage made the prescribed hiking distance unsatisfactory to Pixie. She kept returning to the campfire begging us to go with her along the trails she had found, so she could travel farther and we could see the wonderful worlds she had spied.
Pixie pleas being so difficult to ignore, we were eventually persuaded to abandon our poking of the dying breakfast-time fire for the lure of pursuing the unknown treasures of the woods. "Okay, Pixie, show us your trails."
We started at a little bare spot of earth looking into a little parting spot of the bushes. A few footsteps into the people-sized walkway, though, vines began to wrap around our ankles and branches started grasping at our legs. "Are you sure this is a trail?"
Pixie was certain she'd found a great path to hike, so we kept following. Bushes bit our knees. Branches slapped our cheeks. "Pixie, I don't think this is a trail." Pixie flitted among the greenery like an exotic butterfly in a tropical wonderland. The rest of us struggled through the brush like harassed castaways in a hostile jungle.
Whether because she was so much smaller than the rest of us, or because she is after all a mythological creature and so can blend with nature much more readily than we mere mortals can, Pixie returned to the embers of our campfire after our venture even more lively than when we left. The rest of us collapsed into our camp chairs bruised and scraped and exhausted, and someone was missing an eye. We looked like we'd tried to fight Jeremy Renner. To this day, when Pixie wants to go exploring, everyone asks, "On a REAL trail, or a Pixie trail?"
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Unwanted Hair Removal
Does the word "unwanted" refer to the hair, or the removal?
I tried to tell myself my mustache wasn't that bad. Then Hunneypunkin in a rare display of Imperial storm trooperhood threatened to hide me from the public until I did something about it.
So I tried to wax my facial hair, but even though I obeyed the instructions like a saint, all that got me was a mustache full of wax. I tracked down all the vain people I knew to get some pointers, but the only thing I learned was, "Don't buy the stuff from Wal*Mart." Which of course, is precisely where my little package of pain infliction had come from.
I gave up on the wax and resorted to tweezers. Unfortunately my mother was Rapunzel and my old man was a Wookie, resulting in us children being fur-bearing mammals. That's all well and good for my brothers, but it's rather unfavorable for me, what with my being a girl and all. By the time I had tweezed a square millimeter of the surface area of my face it was tomorrow already.
Tweezing was quite literally a pain so I reverted to ignoring my whiskers until I could see them in the mirror even without corrective lenses. Then I chopped them off with scissors.
Rapunzel has suggested I just shave, but after Hunneypunkin advised Lefty and The Precious, all in good fun, to "ask Mama" how to manage peach fuzz when they reached the wonderful world of teenage, I refuse to take a razor to my face.
I toyed with the idea of starting some sort of new trend with women's facial hair, but I'm just not famous enough for that to be feasible. Yet. Plus, I can't really pull off a heart-stopping goatee as well as someone like, say, Jeremy Renner.
Yesterday after maybe drinking too much (caramel mocha I mean), I opted to try waxing one more time. When I'd had enough of ripping hairs from my face using strips of wax, I ripped out a few more using tweezers. Then I scissored the growth that remained. I still spurned shaving. Today I have red, sore, and slightly swollen bald spots in the stubble surrounding my lips. Is this worth it?
I tried to tell myself my mustache wasn't that bad. Then Hunneypunkin in a rare display of Imperial storm trooperhood threatened to hide me from the public until I did something about it.
So I tried to wax my facial hair, but even though I obeyed the instructions like a saint, all that got me was a mustache full of wax. I tracked down all the vain people I knew to get some pointers, but the only thing I learned was, "Don't buy the stuff from Wal*Mart." Which of course, is precisely where my little package of pain infliction had come from.
I gave up on the wax and resorted to tweezers. Unfortunately my mother was Rapunzel and my old man was a Wookie, resulting in us children being fur-bearing mammals. That's all well and good for my brothers, but it's rather unfavorable for me, what with my being a girl and all. By the time I had tweezed a square millimeter of the surface area of my face it was tomorrow already.
Tweezing was quite literally a pain so I reverted to ignoring my whiskers until I could see them in the mirror even without corrective lenses. Then I chopped them off with scissors.
Rapunzel has suggested I just shave, but after Hunneypunkin advised Lefty and The Precious, all in good fun, to "ask Mama" how to manage peach fuzz when they reached the wonderful world of teenage, I refuse to take a razor to my face.
I toyed with the idea of starting some sort of new trend with women's facial hair, but I'm just not famous enough for that to be feasible. Yet. Plus, I can't really pull off a heart-stopping goatee as well as someone like, say, Jeremy Renner.
Yesterday after maybe drinking too much (caramel mocha I mean), I opted to try waxing one more time. When I'd had enough of ripping hairs from my face using strips of wax, I ripped out a few more using tweezers. Then I scissored the growth that remained. I still spurned shaving. Today I have red, sore, and slightly swollen bald spots in the stubble surrounding my lips. Is this worth it?
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