The pit of my arm presently feels as though an arsonist has slathered it in gasoline, dropped a match inside its crevice, and entrapped the flames within one concentrated area. Let me explain why it feels this way.
It had been six days since I last shaved my underarms; that’s six whole days of leaving my armpit hair follicles unattended. On Day 1, I noticed that my little sister had a waxing kit neatly sitting on one of the shelves in her bathroom. This is why I decided not to shave until the hairs were long enough so that I could use this wax, thus leaving a silky smooth underarm that would stay that way for weeks. Much discomfort I had to go through, for a prickly armpit is anything but a pleasant one, not to mention, I noticed a drastic increase in perspiration in that area and there is nothing fun about that. Day 6 came along, and I finally felt as though I was ready to take on this feat…but I didn’t realize how much pain it would give me.
Here is an idea of what it may have looked like.
In the past, I have only had real experience with hard wax, which actually dries onto the skin, so it’s easier to pull off. My little sister’s wax was soft wax which remains a sticky, gooey mess unless you’re talented with removing it. The next thing I knew, I was ripping the cloth strip off of my underarm and shrieking a blood curdling scream. I look back at where the pain was coming from, and none of the wax came off. It was still there. I had to keep pressing a strip to my skin and ripping it off, with only a few hairs coming off each time. I did this six times in the exact same spot, and yes, tears were streaming down my face. Clearly the most pain I have been in since I got my wisdom teeth out when I was 14 and as a result, I relinquished the second armpit. There is no doubt that this Diva will stick to shaving.
I recently saw a movie entitled The Last Song with the notorious teen wench, Miley Cyrus. Now, I expected this movie to be your typical chick flick, one with cheesy pick up lines and tender moments that never happen in reality. It turned out to be just that, but with an added twist. The next thing I knew, tears were flowing down my cheeks and muffled sobs were escaping my trachea. Even my 11 year old brother was removing his fogged glasses and wiping a few tears. I felt embarrassed for him as well as myself, but I couldn’t control my emotions. Kyle leaned over to me and in a quivering voice said, “Maddi, this is a really good movie.” He was right. In order for a movie to rivet even an eleven-year-old’s emotions in such a powerful way, it had to be labeled a good one.
After leaving the theater with swollen eyes and a blotchy face, I was thinking about when I was Kyle’s age and if there was a movie that I had seen that made me cry just as much as The Last Song. The flashback of me in my chubby eleven-year-old body appeared in my head as I remembered one of my favorite movies that I would cry in every time I watched it. It was called A Little Princess.
skip to 3:20
I remember sobbing even when the movie was over because I had both sad and happy feelings and I didn’t know how to react to what was going on inside of my little brain. Last night, I dusted off the VHS of this movie, popped it into the VCR, and yes, I cried once again. Divas cry too, ya know.