— The Three Little Pigs
Remember Beth, my friend whose hormones are about as balanced as our federal budget? While Juliet was finally experiencing “torches that burn a little less brightly,” Beth had a breakthrough of her own (or so she thought)–one that would relieve her from one of the most annoying complications related to ovaries that overproduce cysts: the detestable chin hairs.
Beth had just received an unexpected monetary gift which would allow her to have a little fun and think outside the budget that she and her family were normally confined to. “Hmmm…” she thought to herself (and then told me, of course), “Should I get a new food processor? Save up for a vacation? Update my wardrobe?” The possibilities were endless, until an idea struck her that made her stop what she was doing and practically giggle with glee.
“I could get laser hair removal of my chin hairs!” she almost shouted. She could really do it and they’d be gone. FOREVER. She could hardly contain herself. Once the Dear Husband returned home from work she broached the subject with him cautiously. Yes, the money was given to her and for her alone to use, but they had agreed to discuss all money matters before purchases were made. Would he think this was frivolous spending? Would he laugh? Would he scoff?
“So I was thinking,” Beth began hesitantly when she found an appropriate moment. “I have this money you know, and the thought occurred to me that I could use it for laser hair removal. For my chin. You know how much that annoys me. Do you think it would be OK?”
Without hesitation DH replied enthusiastically, “Absolutely!” Might I point out, a little too enthusiastically. “Then I won’t get scratched anymore,” he added for extra emphasis.
“Yikes! It’s that bad!” Beth realized in a moment of temporary humiliation, followed quickly by relief that it would not have to endure much longer.
The following day she picked up the phone and made The Call.
“Ideal Image. This is Amanda, how can I help you today?”
“I’d like some information about hair removal from the chin,” responded Beth in a confident, “I’m gonna to take this bull by the horns” tone of voice. (Or was it “I’m gonna to take this piglet by the whiskers”?)
“Certainly,” Amanda said. “Can you tell me what color the hairs are?”
What difference does that make?
“Well, they’re blonde.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, our laser technology uses color to search for the follicles. It won’t work on blonde or white hairs. Is there any other part of the body you’d like to address?”
The line was silent for several seconds, but in that brief timeframe Beth went on a mental tirade.
“Is this for real? Did you just say it can’t be done? What is this, the Middle Ages? We just put a vehicle on Mars for crying out loud and you’re telling me your laser technology can’t find the light colored hairs?! I don’t believe it. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
But perky-voiced Amanda wasn’t kidding. The dream was over. The hairs would remain. Beth got a grip and the anger turned to self-pity. She whispered a tearful, “No, but thanks,” and hung up the phone.
She should have known that it was too good to be true.
Fairytales are only in books.