For the love of god do not put veet on your face

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

I'm usually quite sensible with keyboard shortcuts.
I've grown from amateur 'CNTRL C' to graduating millennialism with an extensive and proud knowledge of four button photoshop wizardry.
I used that knowledge in vain last night, throwing out a 'CNTRL F' with little to no caution to the wind on a friends vlog to search for my name to see if anyone had mentioned me in the comments below.
They had. It was moderately horrific.

I'm used to the 'she's fat', 'her laughs irritating', 'I'm not homophobic but she does look like a lesbian' jibes - they tickle me more than they taunt me because the lack of originality is so tiresome that it does all just feel like a bit of a lame joke.
As though my comfort had a scent, someone had clearly sniffed out they'd need to find a more creative dig.
They dug, they found, they posted.
'Christ, I was so distracted by the bird who looks like Bradley Wiggins.'

I'd never really noticed the two sizeable furry face carpets that trailed much longer than the tips of my ear lobe.
Unsurprisingly, of all the places to find self consciousness it hadn't been at a perfectly natural piece of my hairline.
But I inspected it, twirled it, mentally measured it and after a thirty minute trawl examining other girls faces at a profile angle (and then my own with a picture of Wiggins placed next to it) the idiocy started to eat me up in a way I'm usually fairly competent at batting away.
I couldn't forget it. I tried, I really did, yet it spiralled into a much longer time of wondering how many other people had seen me with my hair up and sniggered or worse, gagged a bit.

I then committed a sin equally as cardinal to reading about yourself online.
I put a thick slick of Veet on my face to veto the aforementioned issue.
You don't have to imagine too tryingly as to how that worked out for me.

Initially the thrill of such a definitive and ill advised bit of hair removal reminded me a lot of the time my best friend aged six fought with a razor as a rebellious infant in a bid to shave both of her eyebrows off. I loved the progressiveness of it. I thought she was way ahead of our time. Maybe I'd recapture that.
Forgetting that I was also six at the time...
And she didn't have to go to work the next day...
With no eyebrows.

I had to go to work today with two scratchy acid marks that were no longer carpets but abrasive doormats.

What lunacy. 
The lunacy of feeling the need to spot a totally inoffensive part of someone's body and make a public derogatory comment.
The lunacy of letting an anonymous idiot haunt you.
We all make mistakes but two that are pretty easy to avoid are one: being a prick online and two: finding weight in comments that are only there to rile and not nourish you.

The main lesson learned from this is as ever:
Putting any sort of  emotional or physical action towards what people think of you on the internet is not healthy. Not healthy for your frazzled off follicles or indeed your psyche.
The other lesson, for the intention of which I write this piece solely:

For the love of god do not put Veet on your face. 

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