Regrowth

I'm laid out on the table again, baring all for Alia's scrutinising eyes.

She takes one look at the patchy hairs on my legs and exclaims,

'Oh God! You are kidding me.'

She throws her hands up in the air and rolls her brown eyes.

'I'm sorry!' I apologise, and she shoots me a withering glance.

'I'll see what I can do, but this,' she gestures at my legs, 'is not good hair'.

I explain that I've been away, in Egypt, and that attacking them myself was my only option.

'Egypt?' she says, 'OK then, you have an excuse'.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

'If it's not clean, it's not good', she says, and I laugh.

'Well, nothing was clean in Egypt. A lot was interesting, but nothing was clean'.

Alia gets to work, doing her best with all the ingrowns and uneven regrowth.

When she's finished I give her a look at the twin forests growing under my arms, flinching in anticipation of her response.

'This is OK,' she says. 'This good hair'.

The 'good hair' is gone quickly, and again Alia asks me about my period, and, again, I lie, telling her it just finished, just like I always do.

'Good', she says.

'Come back in one month, and DON'T TOUCH IT!'.

I'm leaving for good in one month, so I have just enough time to squeeze in one last appointment with Alia, her scowl and her expert technique.

I'll miss her when I'm back in Australia, where the costs of extensive epilation are prohibitive and I'll most likely be back to my bad habits.

But, for now, I'll exfoliate and anticipate my very last session at Essentials and return to Melbourne's winter with silky smooth legs beneath my stockings and jeans.

Then, I'll mutilate the regrowth and by summer I'll be spotted with inflamed ingrowns and I'll remember ruthless Alia, with her quick hands and wise words of advice.