VIHR

Sometimes I get really dedicated to Very Important Hair Removal. Now there’s one thing I’ll never do, unless maybe I start a porn career. (My doctor friend: “It’s mucosa! Would you ever shave your tongue?!” Exactly.) But I do wax my eyebrows, trim the ol’ nostril cilia, and use a

medieval torture device

on my leg and armpit hair.

And then there’s the mustache. The mustache that my friends swear they can’t see, and I usually don’t either, until I’m sitting in my car with the late afternoon sunlight pouring in, and I flip down my visor mirror, and GOOD GOD, I LOOK LIKE GERALDO RIVERA.

And I can’t help myself, I head for the wax. This is a bad move, a stupid move, because it always ends the same way. Whether I wax it myself, or I have it waxed by a professional, no matter what kind of wax I use, or if I pluck it with tweezers, or if I steam my pores open first, or even get it threaded at the mall, I always spend the next five to seven days with tiny whiteheads on my upper lip.

What’s worse? A mustache that can only be viewed on sunny days between 4:00 and 6:00pm in my vehicle or a week’s worth of lip acne?

The mustache, right?

(Everybody pretend you don’t see my lip acne for the next week, K?)