Growing up in a town of 10,000 people, I fully expected to run into people I knew everywhere we went. You couldn’t go anywhere without knowing somebody, if not everybody.
It’s been almost five years ago that we moved to this city of TWO MILLION people, and I’m constantly surprised at how often I run into familiar faces here and there. Just last week, Arle, Grammy and I went to lunch at California Pizza Kitchen and one of my closet clients was seated at the table next to us. A couple of weeks ago, my friend Jessie and I were out shopping when we randomly ran into our friend, Kristin. Each year at the Plaza Art Fair, it never fails that we run into all sorts of acquaintances among the thousands of people there. I regularly bump into peeps I know at the grocery store, pediatrician’s office, Starbucks, and all sorts of other places.
So, it really shouldn’t have surprised me yesterday morning at church when I suddenly realized I recognized the face sitting in the seat directly in front of me. My attention was drawn to her as she turned to whisper something to her husband during praise and worship. I saw her profile and it seemed familiar to me. My brain immediately started flipping through my internal Rolodex of faces to try and place hers.
Suddenly, it hit me. My stomach did a flip-flop.
She’s the girl that does my bikini-waxing.
Not eyebrows, not mustache…bikini.
The only other person I would have been less excited to see would have been my gynecologist.
To many of you this may not be that big of a deal. To those of you who are modest-minnies like myself, this is mortifying.
I was raised by, possibly, the MOST modest woman in the entire world (in fact, if it wasn’t for her love of fashion and her fabulous hair, I’ve always felt she would make a fantastic Amish woman). Much of her modesty was imparted into her daughters and I’ve always considered it an admirable trait.
I’m actually sitting here in Starbucks writing this and nervous about even mentioning the fact that I get bikini-waxes. I assure you I’ll be receiving a phone call about it from my mother and will probably be scolded, not only for writing about it, but also for just getting them in the first place.
Bikini-waxing is one of those things that took me quite a while to even muster up the courage to do. I justified it by telling myself, “The benefits will totally be worth it and, outside of the salon, it’s not like I’m ever going to see the person doing it.”
But then she shows up at my church. In the seat directly in front of me. Notice how I say it’s “my church?” As if only those I give permission to are allowed to enter the building?
Needless to say, I avoided eye-contact and high-tailed it out of there as soon as the service was over.
Knowing my luck, though, she and her husband will probably join our small group.
