I love my esthetician.
I love just saying the word “esthetician.”
Es-tha-tish-an. Pretty, isn’t it? Mysterious, maybe even dangerous.
You can have a vocabulary of 200 words or less, but throw a word around like “esthetician,” and people are impressed. Try it out with your pastor or your mailman, anytime a casual conversation arises.
“Hello, Rev. Brown. I’m just on my way to have all unwanted body hair painfully removed by my esthetician! Have a great day!”
It’s one thing to know what an esthetician is, another to say it correctly. It often brings to mind for me, the word “anesthetist.”
My husband is a nurse anesthetist, another tongue teaser that baffles the great majority. I have been asked approximately 3056 times what an anesthetist is and how it differs from an anesthesiologist. How often I’ve attempted to set the record straight on this eighth world wonder.
“An anesthetist is a nurse who has an advanced degree in anesthesia. An anesthesiologist is a medical doctor who specializes in anesthesia.” People remain confused.
After years of patient description, I have minimized my answer to, “He gets paid for passing gas.”
Somehow it works.
Oddly enough, about 75% of those who want to know what an anesthetist is also want to master the pronunciation of the word itself. I find this exercise particularly tortuous, watching the tongue reach up and out to meet the teeth, over and over again.
“So, he’s an a-neth-a-tist?” (Giggle, giggle, tee, how silly I sound).
“A-NES-the-tist,” I repeat.
“You got it.” (Elmer Fudd would be proud).
But this essay isn’t about my husband, it’s about my esthetician. (That isn’t to say it wouldn’t be helpful to have the benefit of anesthesia when you utilize an esthetician).
My esthetician Rebecca is a depilatory goddess. She not only removes unwanted body hair; she makes you darn proud that you even bothered to grow it in the first place. Now THAT is a gift.
Bless her heart, Rebecca will hot wax and rip from the depths of your pores, any hair, anywhere. She does it with gusto and pride, the kind of overabundant vitality a dog exhibits when he attacks a groundhog.
I became acquainted with Rebecca after whispering to my beautician that I might want to consider doing something about my …ah…estrogen related outcropping just below my nose.
“Oh! You want a lip wax!”
I was mortified. I had no idea I had hair on my lips!
But, it wasn’t long before I caught onto the lingo; mustache=lip, beard=sides of face, etc. Kind words to cover the shaggy truth. You got a body part, they have a price. A lip wax will run you $8.50, a Brazilian $25.50, a full leg $50.50.
In some ways this seems almost cruel. What if you’re on a budget? Lose the beard, keep the mustache? Do one leg and not the other?
The most confusing option is “Half arm, elbow down.” I wonder who wants that.
“Wax from the elbow down, honey, but make sure to leave it long and thick on top.”
If finances were an issue, I would go for one entire bare arm, and throw a wrap over the other. Or take a seasonal approach, wooly in the winter, smooth in the summer.
On the plus side, this segregation of hair makes gift giving a breeze.
I’m thinking about Mother’s Day here. You know, it’s right around the corner. Try giving your mom a gift certificate for a whisker-ectomy. She might love it.
My brothers and I are considering a consolidation of funds to cover the cost of lip, brow, and one armpit for Mom.
It’s a start. And, you gotta admit, it’s a personalized and thoughtful gift.