I've never been a very self-indulgent person—can't say I've really had the time with four kids, husband, home and a full-time job. But there came a time one summer when I decided I deserved to spoil myself and let me tell you, it's a time I will never forget.
I saw an ad in the paper for specials at the cosmetology school. Manicures, pedicures, colors, etc. They were so cheap that even super frugal me couldn't help but be interested. I figured I'd go all out and give myself the works. I was hosting a bridal shower for my niece that upcoming weekend and wanted to look my best. I figured the timing couldn't have been better.
I went to my appointment like a little kid going to the circus. I was so excited! I'd never had a manicure or a pedicure done professionally, and I was really looking forward to being pampered. As a mom, I didn't often get taken care of—it was usually quite the opposite.
Two cute, young cosmetology students took terrific care of me. One did my hands, one did my feet, and they chattered together about their upcoming graduation. Rather than feeling put out by that, I was content to just sit and listen in. Their youthful enthusiasm was engaging and refreshing. I could have stayed at their station all morning.
But, all too quickly, I was hustled on to my next appointment, dyeing my lashes and eyebrows. I was a little nervous about this. I didn't know anyone who had ever had it done, and I didn't feel like asking anyone if they had. I was certainly not comfortable letting anyone know how "cosmetically challenged" I was. But, it made sense to me to do the whole works while I was at it—hair, eyebrows, lashes. I trusted that I was with people who know what to do.
So, I laid my head back in the chair, closed my eyes, and let the cosmetology student do her thing. Before she got started, she asked me one question, "What color did you want your lashes?" And my immediate response was "I do my eyelashes in black mascara." And that was all we said to each other before she handed me a mirror.
I looked in the mirror expecting a wonderful transformation, a delightful makeover.
What I saw was far from that! Looking back at me were two bushy, irridescent, blue-black caterpillars strategically placed about my eyes! I wanted to scream! I looked exactly like the comedian from the forties, Groucho Marx.
Panic began to set in. Scattered thoughts quickly raced through my mind. How had this happened? Who in their right mind would give me black eyebrows? How could anyone think that black eyebrows go with brown hair and blonde highlights? I know nothing about beauty trends…but are you kidding me? Is this some kind of joke? I can't look like this! I'm giving a shower in two days! Oh my god…what am I going to do?
Before I could utter a sound, the stylist's sweet little voice asked, "How do you like it?" And I still can't believe what came out of my mouth. I responded, "Oh, it's just fine!" And I even smiled at her.
I got up quickly and hustled over to the counter to pay my bill, and I literally ran out to my car. I quickly looked into my rear view mirror hoping that maybe I was hallucinating from all the fumes I'd been breathing in and my eyebrows weren't really as horrendous as I thought.
But, oh no! In the bright sunlight, they were even worse!!!!!!
I quickly drove home, called my husband and warned him of what to expect when he got home. I didn't want him dying from a sudden heart attack. My ten year-old son, who came in from another room, took one look at me, dropped his jaw and said, "Mom, you look scary. What did you do?"
I nearly burst into tears.
I couldn't take the chance of anyone else seeing me in this condition. I called my regular stylist, admitted I had gone astray, and explained my predicament with extreme embarrassment. She was so incredibly understanding and worked me in to her tight schedule. She understood that she had a real emergency on her hands and rose to the occasion. I only had one hour to wait…thank goodness!
My husband came home and took one look at me and burst out laughing. Then, I knew how really bad it was—he's usually pretty diplomatic and able to say just the right thing to make me feel better. This time all he could say, between laughs, was "You are right! You do look just like Groucho Marx." And at this point, all I could do was laugh along with him. The whole situation was too ridiculous not to laugh.
When it was time, I hustled off to my appointment, careful to keep my eyebrows out of public view. My stylist was able to undo the damage and bring me back to normal. You can not imagine the relief I felt when I once again looked in the mirror and the caterpillars were gone. I was very happy to see my ordinary and familiar self.
Over time, I was able to relate the whole crazy story to my friends, and laugh at myself, along with them. But when everyone said, "Oh, that is so funny. I wish I could have seen how you looked. You should have taken a picture." I adamantly disagreed with them. I am eternally grateful that the vision of the iridescent blue-black Groucho Marx eyebrows is fading from my memory.
And, from this experience, I have come to believe that self-indulgence is really over-rated. I've seen up close and personal that it doesn't really look so good on me!
