(A few Saturdays ago, now), Randy and I decided to go on base for breakfast. We were awake early
enough to get delicious pancakes from the golf course! I was super excited;
pancakes are amazing and the golf course makes awesome blueberry pancakes. I ordered them along with biscuits and
gravy and proceeded to devour the greater majority of my food. The biscuits and
gravy were a bit salty for me that morning, so I ate about half of them before
deciding to focus solely on the blueberry pancakes. Every bite filled my mouth
with sweet, delicious, blueberry-tinted, syrupy deliciousness. There was a
party in my mouth and I was having a blast! It was definitely one of the best
mornings I’ve had in a while.
That
weekend, the Spring Bazaar was in full swing on base. Spangdahlem Air Base has
two Bazaars every year, one in spring and one in autumn, where vendors from all
over the local and surrounding areas come to sell their goods and market their
products. In my first two years here, I volunteered for every Bazaar, helping
set up booths, handing out raffle tickets, helping tear down booths, etc. This
year, I opted out of volunteering. There was no way in any kind of hell that I
wanted to be on my feet that long while pregnant. Randy, on the other hand, had
to go to the Bazaar in order to perform standby duty for his shop, the
electricians; they work shifts at every Bazaar in order to provide prompt
service should anything electrical need fixing.
Since
Randy had to go, I went with him. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of walking
around a couple of hangars, especially since it’s almost always the same
vendors who come to the Bazaars, but I figured, why not? I could at least look
around, even though I most definitely was not going to spend any money.
We took
our time looking around and I was pleasantly surprised to note that I wasn’t in
any excruciating pain while walking. My feet were still sternly attached to my
ankles, with no swelling or aching, and my back carried me steadily without
threat of falling apart. Randy and I walked around and looked at the items of
each and every booth; I made comments occasionally, especially when we passed
furniture. We can’t afford to buy any furniture right now, as we are separating
from the military and can’t take on a new monthly payment, but I enjoy looking
nonetheless.
Eventually, we bought two
rings—one for him and one for me. I chose an Irish Claddagh ring for its
simplicity and symbolism; I truly enjoy the fact that turning it one way means
something, while turning it the other way means the opposite. Randy chose a
simple metal band that complements his hand quite well.
Quite
happy with the purchase and the way the day was going, we continued on our way,
looking at the booths in Hangar 1. We had previously explored Hangar 2 and had
no particular interest in anything they were selling. As we made our way
around, we saw a setup from a spa in Speicher, a town about 5 minutes away from
base where a lot of military members live, most of the community speaks decent
English, and the people are quite friendly. Randy asked if I wanted anything
done from them, but I said no. Spas tend to be quite expensive and I wasn’t
making an attempt at running us broke. We had rings; I was happy.
As time
went on, however, and Randy and I found us in front of the spa setup, I
reconsidered my options. Randy was offering me anything I wanted—anything at
all. He wanted me to be pampered and happy. So, I looked at the menu and
ultimately decided on a face wax and a pregnancy massage.
I’ve
never had my face waxed before. This was a new experience for me but I was
prepared to deal with any and all pain involved, because I was seriously sick
and tired of looking in the mirror and seeing hairs everywhere—my chin, my jaw
line near my ears, my neck… I thought, hey, if Randy can afford this and he
wants to make me feel special, this is the way to do it. This and a massage. I
hadn’t had a massage since my 16th birthday and was most definitely
looking forward to one, especially since pregnancy has caused my back more pain
than usual.
The wax
went as expected—mostly. The method of waxing was expected, even the pain. What
wasn’t expected was how many times the lady had to go over the same
spots—because, apparently, my hair grows in all
different directions! Of course! I couldn’t have it easy, one rip per
section of face, oh, no! That would be too much to ask! I had to suffer far
more than the average face-wax victim (or so I assume).
Finally,
though, the waxing was done and I was allowed to regard the results in a
handheld mirror. My face and neck were red.
It was expected, of course, and I said I was happy—if only because I couldn’t
see anything wrong with my face aside from the redness. The lady suggested I
wash my face when I got home, so I agreed, raised myself off the bed, and sat
in a chair to await the time for my massage.
The
massage was wonderful! The masseuse
was a well-built man who knew very well what he was doing and he made an effort
to keep the parts of me that he wasn’t massaging covered with the blankets the
older lady who worked there put over me prior to his walking in. This very well
protected my modesty (boobs) and made me feel at ease more than if there had
been no blanket at all. I only wished I had removed my socks prior to the
massage; my feet could have used a bit more attention than they received, but I
hadn’t thought of my socks when I removed my clothes. Besides, bending over far
enough and lifting my leg in order to get my socks off seemed like a lot of
effort that I didn’t want to go to. Regardless, I was quite happy with the
results and walked out of the booth feeling better and walking straighter.
I felt
oily—from the massage oil—and tingly in my face from the wax. I had a new ring
on my finger to indicate my marriage. I was quite happy with how things went.
Finally,
Randy and I returned home and I cooked dinner. It was the least I could do for
my wonderful husband, who had done so much for me that day. I cooked steak and
mixed vegetables and Randy prepared the side of instant mashed potatoes (they
seem to be his specialty); it was delicious and we were happy. I washed my face
and we went to bed.
Over
the next few days, my face broke out like crazy. I used my regular face wash to
clean my face and it began breaking out everywhere that I’d been waxed—red
bumps raised like angry little volcanoes all over my skin and the redness of
the skin itself didn’t seem to want to dissipate. Finally, I brought up my
concern and my unhappiness with my appearance to Randy, who informed me that
I’m not supposed to use my face wash after a wax. This was quite upsetting; I
had blackheads all over my nose and the occasional zit on my face—I needed to
use my face wash! But Randy told me it would just irritate my skin, and I did
have proof of it doing just that, with spots of my cheeks being dry to peeling
and red bumps all over my cheeks, chin, and neck.
I’ve
gone two days now without using my face wash. I left my face alone yesterday
and washed it twice today with simple soap and water. The redness has cleared,
as have the red bumps on my cheeks, but the acne on my neck, chin, and above my
lip remains. I find it highly upsetting that I’ve broken out worse since the
wax than I was prior. I’m not sure what I dislike seeing on my face more—hair
or acne.
I would
post a picture of my face as it is today, but I’m quite self-conscious about
it. I’m considering paying a visit to the spa in Speicher—it’s not that they
did a bad waxing job, after all—and requesting a facial. Maybe they can clear my
skin up and recommend something to use that may work better than the washes I
own. They don’t seem to do much, after all…
Thanks
for reading!
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