They say you learn a lot about a person by living with them, and a good test for any relationship is to travel together. Joe & I have been on a few vacations now – specifically two four-day weekend trips to San Francisco and Washington D.C. – but Ireland was probably our big relationship litmus test for a few reasons. One, it involved international travel (something I'd never experienced before) and two, it our was our longest vacation together on record (9 days). And we passed we flying colors even though I found myself in a troubling spot.
On this trip, I'd say we set into a pretty good, casual groove regarding sightseeing: we'd done some research before we left and knew of a few places we definitely wanted to hit, but mostly we played it by ear. If a local suggested we go clear across Ireland to tour another town, sure, okay. You say this pub is good but you're not exactly sure where it is? Alright, we'll try to find it.
But a lot of times, we both would crash around 5, 6 pm. Since the sun would stay up until 10 pm, we usually would take an evening pit stop back at the hotel were we might read for an hour or take a nap and just go out again later. We were both on the same pace, and it was nice.
So, what was my troubling predicament? Well, I didn't bring a razor on our trip. I mean, whatever, that was a conscious decision. I figured I'd buy a disposable one in Ireland after a few days and problem solved. But then, I started having different hair issues, mainly with the ones growing out of my face.
I'm Greek. In some capacity. (Definitely in last name.) And as I've discovered as I've gotten older, Greeks are hairy. To put it bluntly, I'm in my mid-twenties and I have dark, black hairs that grow out of my chin. I started to discover them when I would put my concealer on with my hands, and I could FEEL these individual hairs distinctly. Now, I have to pluck them out. There's probably about five of them. It's like that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where, as Toula's mom is giving her the, "We may be lambs in the kitchen but we're lions in the bedroom" speech, the Aunt is plucking the hairs our of her chin. The mom tells her to stop and the Aunt goes, "Wait wait, one big one, one big one." Yeah. That HIIILLAARIOUS scene is a part of my weekly routine. I have lots of "one big one"s. Sigh.
So, before our trip, I plucked out these big ole hairs and figured I'd be good and they wouldn't grow in until we got back. WRONG-O. Those bastards reappeared TWO DAYS IN, along with their slacker friends that had been MIA in the previous weeks. I couldn't stop rubbing my face, and Joe noticed. I couldn't help it; I felt like I had a beard. So I just told him about my ultra-annoying hairs, and how I needed them off my face. That's when I made the executive decision to shave my face.
I came up with the idea because 1) I had to buy like, a 20 back of cheapo razors so I would be able to have separate ones for my legs and my face, and 2) I remembered Caroline Manzo did it on The Real Housewives on New Jersey and I mean, What Would Caroline Manzo Do?, right? If I have to emulate one of the NJ housewives, it's gonna be Caroline, not the Prostitution Whore or the one $11 million in debt.
Now, I could have just NOT told Joe that I was shaving my face the entire trip, but that would have driven me crazy. It was too ridiculous not to share. But then you know, as a girl, you don't want your guy to hear all about the prep you do to look nice. It's kinda like how you don't want to see how the sausage gets made, you just want the end product. And I can't think of anything less attractive for a man to witness than his lady SHAVING HER FACE. So I hemmed and hawed about telling him my plan until at the pharmacy (I think) I blurted out, "THESE HAIRS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY I'M GOING TO SHAVE MY FACE."
So now I have some face shaving experience. And let me tell you, it's bananas. Having blades so close to my mouth and neck really wigged me out. I shaved super slowly with my face wash instead of shaving creme, and I felt so much better once those huge hairs were gone. (What killed me is that Joe didn't shave at all on the trip. Har har.) But of course, they then grew in faster and coarser. So I contained to shave. I never let Joe see me shave my face, but he was aware. And didn't mock me relentlessly. He's a keeper.
I'm back to good ole plucking, but I will never forget my stint with having to shave my face. It was a humbling experience.
