When I rearranged my summer plans due to my husband's deployment, I was excited to be able to fit one more laser hair removal treatment in before I left for the summer.
Did I say laser hair removal? What I meant was TORTURE by laser light.
This was my fourth appointment and except for one stray chin hair and three stray gray hairs my face is as smooth as a baby's behind. So I thought that it couldn't be nearly as painful as the last three.
I have never before been quite so wrong.
I slathered on the numbing cream extra thick, even though it makes me look like the centerpiece in a bukkake porn. It may be humiliating to walk in the hospital covered in thick, white goo, but if that stuff blocks any pain at all, it is worth it.
Usually a treatment lasts thirty minutes. The nurse pulses the light, applies aloe, and gives me a breather before each section.
This time the nurse decided it would be best to just get it over with! The entire appointment took seven minutes. Seven minutes of fiery, painful hell.
I learned that the laser isn't just zapping the dark pigment in my hair, but also any dark pigment in my skin.
Have I mentioned that I'm half-Irish, people? I have freckles, and lots of them. Fiery, painful, hellish freckles.
I also learned that my freckles may fade or disappear by my last treatment. And so may some of my moles. The laser also stimulates collagen and will help fight wrinkles and keep my youthful skin.
Huh? Suddenly, seven minutes of pure hell doesn't sound so bad.