I Bought Cool Mickey Band Aids When We Went To Disney World…And Then I Used Them All…

Brian: I got you something.

Me: Oh yeah?

Brian: It’s smaller than a bread box.

(I look in the bag expecting Peeps or Cadbury Cream Eggs or Cadbury Mini Eggs or jellybeans.)

Me: *Squeal*

Mickey Mouse Band Aids

Me: I ran out of these when we were in Florida!

Brian: Wait, you had these?

Me: Duh. (I look at the side package.) No! OMG THESE ARE WAY BETTER.

Mickey Mouse Band Aids

Brian: WOAH. I have to take them back. There’s some serious Mickey abuse going on. I didn’t see that in the store.

Me: No! It’s just a love pat. Look! They’re kissing! And it’s pink!

Brian: Abuse. That’s horrible.

Me: LOVE. Tap. (I pet his cheek and shout “Smack!”) See. Love.

Brian: Now don’t go hurting yourself on purpose to wear these.

Me: *Silence*

Brian: If you want to wear one, you can just put it on. You don’t need any real injuries. OK?

Me: What should I chop for dinner?

Brian: I don’t know…HEY! WAIT A MINUTE!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Because Polish Girls Have Some Crazy Arm Hair…

Today, thanks to Lily from It’s a Dome Life, our Monday Memory is all about Beauty Gone Painful. I’ve already told you about that one time I accidentally cut a giant bald spot in my hair (Seriously, go read that) And there was the time that I was visiting my aunt and we took some SERIOUS glamour shots…This one is all about unpleasant hair.

I’m Polish. (And Irish. And English. And German. And Jewish-ish. And probably a little bit Scottish.)

So regardless of the blond hair as a child, the brownish hair speckled with gray hiding under the red dye, I have some black as black can be arm hair. Or I would if I didn’t shave it all off weekly.

Yep. I shave my arm hair. But long before I thought to just…you know…shave it all off…my little sister and I invested in NADS Australian no-heat wax. With money from my grandfather.

We thought that it would be an excellent way to get rid of that pesky arm hair. And so we lathered ourselves up, and let that shit dry. The we let-er-rip. Holy fucking crap, did that shit hurt. It was like trying to get gum out of your hair and pulling your hair and stabbing your skin and burning your skin (no-heat wax or not) all at once. And it didn’t even do a good job. So what did we do? We tried our legs. And that didn’t work at all because apparently your hair has to be ridiculously long for it to work.

The lesson? Even if it leaves the occasional need for Mickey Mouse Band-Aids…Bust out the razor.

Band-Aids

Check out my Monday Memory partners in crime, as they tell you all about their beauty mishaps!

Monday Memories
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!