Someone Will Love You
1993; University of Missouri; Volume: 16; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/mis.1993.0017
ISSN1548-9930
Autores ResumoSOMEONE WILL LOVE YOU /Carolyn A. Wexler IUSE THE ULTRA fine needles, so thin I have to hold them to the Ught to see them. They don't draw blood and they don't leave scars. My girls don't want scars. Even if I have to zap the same hair five times, I stiU use the ultra fine needles. I work three days during the week and a half day on Saturdays which is aU I can take of looking through a triple magnification glass at my age. Not that I'm old, but eyesight does decline, especiaUy near-vision, with age. When I turned forty, I got myself a headlamp, which makes those Uttle rascals pop right out. I get my cUents by referral, and they keep coming back. If you get a customer in her teens and you clean her up, she'U be back when she has babies and especiaUy around the change when the body pushes out hair Uke crazy. Some girls who got by without electrolysis until the change come in frantic. EUen is in her forties, and she's come to me on the advice of her hairdresser, who has been a customer for years. She's a petite Uttle thing, a bank teUer, with neat hair and clothes. We had a long chat on the phone when she caUed to make the appointment, so I feel like I already know her. "Doria," she says. "What's happening to me?" I look at her chin with my magnifiers and see what she means. She has plucked a number of them, but with my glasses I can see the black stubby things peeking out. To compUcate matters they are curly. Plucked curly hairs are the worst. You can't get to the root because the foUicle is curved. So your first two or three zaps only straighten out the foUicle. About the fourth time, you can get right down to the root and kiU it for good. "The first thing I want to teU you," I say to EUen, "is whatever you do, don't pluck. Plucking is the worst thing you can do. If you have to shave, that's not as bad, but I wouldn't shave either. Cut. Use a scissors and cut." She looks so concerned, her features knotted in the center of her Uttle worried face. "Why is this happening to me?" she says. Sooner or later, aU my girls ask this question. There is a note of alarm, a fear that perhaps something inside has gone wacky. The Missouri Review · 297 Sometimes something has gone wacky and they need a doctor, and then I refer them. "Hormones," I teU her. "The system changes every seven years." I leave her to make the connection between her time of Ufe and hormones. "But I've never had hair before," she says, her Uttle worried face searching mine for an answer. "My system must have changed several times." This I can't answer. The ways of the system are varied and foUow no rules I know of except unpredictabiUty. I put my hand on her shoulder and smUe my best smUe. Nat, my husband, says I have an infectious smile and that no one could stay gloomy when I smUe at them. "You don't have a big problem," I tell her. "We can take care of this." She brightens. "ReaUy?" she says. "There are many girls who would love to have your problem." "ReaUy?" she says, smUing, too. She has a lovely smUe with good even teeth that are a bit long for her smaU face, but that could be fixed with a little fifing. I know a good cosmetic dentist, I keep his cards in my drawer, but I'll wait tiU the right moment. I explain the procedure to her, that she'U have to come back every three weeks for about six months, and I teU her TU do a few hairs now so she'U know how it feels. I got into this Une of work when I was stiU a teenager. I had a terrible problem. Around twelve, I started pushing hair out like crazy...
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