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Once a year, without fail, I haul out the magnifying mirror and meticulously examine my face. After recovering from the shock of viewing my pores at 12X, I decide that my imperceptible blonde moustache must go. I pull  out my dusty  container of Strip Free Honee Wax and liberally slather it on my upper lip. With a brutally yank, the offending hair is captured in an amber-like goop, and I rejoice at my smooth-skinned self. 

Clearly, I must temporarily suffer from a combination of body dismorphic disorder and amnesia to repeat this foolishness. Consider that all women have a faint moustache. No one would ever notice,  unless they inspected all passersby with a 12X magnifying glass. And, more importantly, how could I forget that every time I wax  my face, I break out hideously?

Thursday night, I plodded through my described  annual ritual–Inspect, yikes, yank, d’oh. Friday morning, I monitored my upper lip puffiness with increasing concern. Friday night, it’s time to alert the Acne Hall of Fame that I broke the record for The Greatest Number of Angry Little Pimples in   a Two-square Inch Area. 

Take a gander at your upper lip and imagine three quarters of those hair follicles erupting into swollen, painful whiteheads. Yee-ouch. And D’oh, since I recall this happened last time I waxed my face. Sigh. So should I toss out the wax, the mirror or my ideas of beauty?

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