You’re in a relationship of the most intimate nature. You have great, personal conversations. They know, and remember, everything about you. They listen to your tales, they laugh, they flatter and compliment you, and they remember. They know you in ways no other person does, every hair, every freckle, every scar. They even know the stories behind the scars. They listen to, and remember the details of your life, the important people, the triumphs, the dreams, the struggles, the sorrows. They are like a friend and confidant. You share things with this person that would cause you to blush with, even, your best friends. Then the day comes, the day you walk into the room, begin to undress, and they tell you they’re leaving. And all you can think is “No. No. No. Not again”.
This has happened too many times, and it will happen again. I know it, you know it. An introduction will be made. A date. It will be awkward, at first, but, eventually, a pattern, a rhythm, and a comfortable familiarity is established. Time will pass, perhaps weeks, maybe months, perhaps a year, or more. Then, they leave. Off to follow their dreams, pursue their lives, leaving you behind to regroup, to start over. You know, too, there are others, so many others, just like you. You’ve never been the only one, how could you be? It’s what they do. That’s how it works. You knew it, how could you not know it. There’s a sign on the door! Still, you feel alone, dismayed, fraught. You have no choice but to start over. They’re leaving. And you need this. You need this in your life. You’ll find another.
And who can you tell? How many people do you even talk to about this; where you go, what is said, what is done? The warmth, the touch, the pain. Over and over, especially the pain. Like torture, consensual torture. It hurts, but that’s part of it. It doesn’t work if there isn’t pain. Maybe you tell your closest of friends, some family members, but even then, you never tell all the details. And you blush even at the mention of it. But you won’t deny yourself, it is all worth it; the pain, the torture, the awkward positions, the expense. The being left. Again.
When you drive up, park, and walk towards the door, when you open the door and walk in, passers by look at you. You can feel them glancing at you, with judgment. They know what you’re there for. They’ve seen the others come and go, too. Every day. Every night. They know what goes on behind those doors, and they judge you for it. Occasionally, you make eye contact with a passer by, and if they smile at you, you’re pretty sure they have a similar arrangement. They understand. They know. And they, too, have probably been left, adrift, suddenly, incomprehensibly. That’s just how it goes. How can they do this to us? We don’t like change. We want things to stay the same, we don’t ever want them to go. Oh, God, not again. Leaving. They leave. They always leave.
Yes, aestheticians. If you could take your hair stylist, the one person in your life you’re likely to talk to like, and about, your best friend! A good hair stylist listens, asks, knows, remembers, you, your stories, the people in your life, your joys, dreams, trials, and sorrows. Take your hair stylist and blend them with your gynecologist, who knows you at the most intimate level, perhaps, though clinically, better than your lover. A blend of your hair stylist and your gynecologist; your aesthetician.
Wax on. Wax off. Wax on, my dear.