When a rogue eyebrow hair periodically makes physical contact with your eyelashes, it’s time to seek the hot handed help of a waxing profesh.
I don’t even want to talk about how I let myself get to this point, except to also say that I tropped into work yesterday wearing a shirt with sequins on it – an actual, sequined, club-appropriate shirt. With sensible camel pants, naturally.
It’s because I’ve reached the final stage in the clothing life cycle familiar to many post-collegiates:
All Normal Clothing Dirty, But Still Don’t Feel Like The Agony Of Laundry, So Will Instead Make Outfits Out Of Weird Shit Found On Closet Floor.
Clearly, waxing is not the only thing I have let go.