Retail therapy is my preferred form of therapy. Spending hours perusing shoe racks, cheese counters, and coffee makers is my favorite past time. Correction: It’s my favorite present time. But there is one exception to this rule– one form of shopping that is the equivalent to a smoke detector that refuses to stop beeping no matter how many times you whack it with your Swiffer– and that is tweezer shopping.
While normally a responsible young adult, I have one item I repeatedly lose, and that dear readers, is tweezers. Those guaranteed claws of hair removal torture have legs of their own because they do a hell of a lot of walking… out of my makeup bag, that is. Where they go only fellow cosmetic surgical items know. And being that I am wholly animate, I am not privy to this insider knowledge.
But the worst part is that when they disappear and my eyebrows begin to take unibrow shape I must purchase a new pair. That, or risk being mistaken for something less than human. And when I arrive at Duane Reade, dreading a run in with an ex, I must then sort through 50 brands of tweezers, all of them promising baby bare skin and each slightly more expensive than the next.
And my indecision, confusion, and all around discomfort soon become visible to a drug store employee, who thinking I may faint, offers me apple juice. When I explain that my blood sugar is anything but low (since I obviously just consumed a cheese danish in preparation for this horrid task), she stops to ask, “Then why do you looked so pain?”
“I just can’t… with this right now,” I say while motioning at the tweezer display. “Can you just pick for me?” She stares in disbelief. If this is my biggest stressor, she mutters, then I am the luckiest girl on the planet. She subsequently grabs a Revlon pair of tweezers and sends me on my way. When I thank her profusely for her assistance, she replies, “I feel like I should give your a lollipop, or something. Maybe an ‘I survived!’ sticker?”
Then I remind her that given my pattern for losing this item I will likely be back next week, and she should save her lollipops and stickers for the day I can choose a pair of tweezers all by myself.