The news was on — the real news, not the morning-drive radio showmy son believes in his heart of hearts is the news — and somehow the story of the salon offering self-esteem-dripping bikini wax specials to teens had just leaked to the station. I was standing in the bathroom, hair wrapped in a flat-iron, and too far away to flip it off in time. I also know from lots of experience that the quicker I hustle to switch a station or song, the more I call attention to it and the more questions there are. I stood silently and still. Maybe, for once, the moment would pass.
But, of course, it didn’t. I had a five-minute breather to get ready and to begin believing it wouldn’t be the day when my kid would be exposed to the cold, hard reality of hot wax and unwanted hair. But that was all I got.
“Mommmmmmy,” Lil E said, stretching out my name that told me my reprieve had been stripped clean away. “What is waxing?”