kept ~ brush ~ wax
Today I had one of those conversations that made me question everything about myself.
Surprisingly, it began with, “You have hairy arms.”
It was an astute observation. It’s not like it was eighties level hair, but yes, I kept my arms in their natural state. It was either that or squirming visibly for twenty four hours of the day. Call me a rebel but chafing wasn’t fun. At all.
The keen observer was my frenemy Maisy. Maisy was my frenemy for several reasons. The main one being that my existence seemed to bother her deeply.
“You should wax them!” she suggested, her eyes bright with excitement. I’d never seen someone so animated over body hair. “Maybe then you’d meet a nice guy!”.
Ah. That explained it. This was the second reason why Maisy was my frenemy. She seemed to have some kind of 1950s esque desire to marry me off to any man interested in obtaining a wife.
“That’s it,” I said dryly. “You’ve solved singletonesia. The trick is to wax your arms and Prince Charming will appear at the door. Hopefully with some kind of soothing moisturiser.”
Maisy shook her head at me sadly. “That’s another thing. Why all the sarcasm? And have you ever tried smiling every now and then?”
I scowled at her, just to rile her up even more. “I’m happy with my resting bitch face, thanks.”
With another head shake, she grabbed her purse and slipped her shades on. “You, my friend, are a lost cause.” With that she left our outside table and sashayed off, leaving me to foot the bill for the stupid expensive salad she’d ordered and barely touched.
“You, my frenemy, are a bitch,” I said to her retreating figure, pulling a face to go with the insult.
I was so caught up in thinking up creative ways to tell Maisy to go and fuck herself that I almost screamed when I felt something brush against my shoulder.
When I’d calmed down, I turned to see an attractive man smiling at me. I couldn’t work out if it was a genuine smile or a this girl is a weirdo smile so I returned it in silence.
“FYI, hairy arms or not, I’d go out with you,” he said, bowing his head after like he was suddenly feeling self conscious.
“Uh, thank you?” I said because I didn’t know what else to say. If Maisy had been here, I would have made a big deal about it but this guy was about five minutes late.
“Is tomorrow night at seven okay?”
He looked at me expectantly when I didn’t answer.
Oh, he was serious?
It was probably the weirdest way I’d been asked out, but I decided to go for it.
If it went somewhere, that would be cool and if it didn’t, I’d at least be able to snag a picture with the guy and post it on Instagram for Maisy to see.
“That’s fine,” I told him when I realise I’d left him hanging. “It’s a date.”
The adventures of Snarky Girl contines. And yes. Someone did once tell me that I had hair on my arms. 😂