The Only Way I Am Like Hitler

My upper lip is my greatest shame. Well, not my greatest shame, I can't actually write about that on this blog, but it is definitely in the top ten. You see, like a great number of women, I have a moustache, and I have been doing battle with it my entire adult life.

It started when I 13 and the first wiry hairs sprouted from my upper lip. Jolene cream bleach became my best friend. Every two weeks I would mix the cream and the power accelerant together on the little tablet, using the even littler spatula. Then I would put it on my lip and let it sit. And sit. And sit. After about three hours I would scrape the caked mess off my face, and check the results. They were never what I would call "good." I mean, the buzz from the fumes was great, but my hair usually stayed dark. I then decided it was time to stop bleaching my moustache, and start eradicating it altogether.

Over the years I have vacillated between waxing my lip, which is both painful and a kind of psychological torture (oh, yeah, 3-2-1 rip, that works), and using depilatory, which I think is how the government is getting rid of the left over Agent Orange from Vietnam. I would use one or the other until I did myself either emotional or physical harm. For instance, when I was in eighth grade I decided to use depilatory. It didn't work the first time, so I did it again. Oh, and I took off half of my skin. No, my moustache would not be noticed, but the large red blister in the shape of a moustache would. It was my mother who finally came up with the lie that saved me -- I am allergic to Strawberries. Yeah, but only in one place.

Like all hairy women I have been looking for an easy answer to the moustache conundrum all my life. And then, one night last month, I thought I saw it. Smooth Away. I was aghast that Europe had been hiding the fact I could simply buff away my unwanted hair, all while smiling and wearing a wrap around towel. Suddenly I understood the national hatred for the French. I wanted to know where I could buy it IMMEDIATELY! Then I saw it was only sold by phone and lost interest. After all, I would never be that drunk.

Destiny found me when I was helping Tara move to California. We were in a Rite Aid the size of the Superdome when I wandered through the Jesus figurines, flammable Hawaiian shirts, and buckets of Cheez(TM) balls and discovered the "as seen on TV aisle." There, right in the middle of it, calling to my like a siren, was Smooth Away. And it was only $9.99. I would have bought two if Tara wasn't sniggering.

In the commercial the women in the half towels smile as they easily buff the hair away from any body part that is too hirsute. Yeah, those bitches are on drugs. The only way they can smile while using the Smooth Away is if it is not actually touching their skin. After I was done using it, and actually getting hair off, I looked like a burn victim. You see, what they don't tell you is that to take the hair off to a suitable level, the skin has to come off also. Yes, I should have known that, but I still believe in magic and unicorns.

I have figured out why Smooth Away sells so many units though, even though it is like putting a sandblaster on your face: it comes with a vibrator. It is supposed to go in the hand held pad to "work hair from it's root." Yeah, the only thing it's going to do is work housewives from their sexual frustration. And at just $9.99, that's not a bad price.

Maybe I should just move to Greece... Gryos, and I would look like a hairless cat....