Lady-Stache

I did not plan to have my eyebrows waxed today, but they were getting really bushy and I have a meeting tonight where I will get to know several new people who will likely not judge me by the stray-ness of my eyebrow hair, but still; first impressions are important, right?
So between other errands, I popped into one of our local Asian-lady hangouts for a quick fix, with my girls in tow. To their credit, they stood quietly in the room, exactly where I asked them to, and only once did I hear a whisper from my eldest, "I wonder what that thing does?" I don't know what that thing was, or what it did either as my eyes were closed, and I've never felt that sensation before while being professionally waxed.
The lady who performed the deed sat me back in a chair, placed a towel on my chest (theoretically to catch all of those stray hairs that would be falling), and queried, "Uppa leep"?
Those of you who know me, will have to tell me sometime if my upper lip needs a wax. Honestly, given I have pretty fair hair, what is growing on my upper lip is blond, and probably shimmers happily in direct sunlight if you're looking. But I have no dark hair there, don't feel much like a man yet, so have never considered waxing my upper lip. I replied, "No thanks." And then closed my eyes, thinking that my eye-waxing lady had quite a nerve. Her tip shrunk in my head.
Half-way through my spreading, smearing, ripping, plucking, brushing, clipping, and whatever-that-mysterious-contraption-thing-is-for-ing, she's asked, "Pedicure too?"
Now, to the lady's credit, my feet are in bad shape. My lip is innocent, but my feet deserve some attention. It's not just the cracking, dry skin on my heels, it's also the red polish, which I applied last month that has grown mostly out, so most of my toes look like I only painted the top half. This lady (despite the brain cells she's surely lost to all those fumes) is aware that, rather than artistic painting, I'm really in need of some remover and a re-polish.
"No, thanks!" I say, while trying to keep my face still so she doesn't accidentally pluck one of my lip hairs instead.
Then I start wondering, if next she'll offer a salad, and a good work-out regimen for me, since she's probably noticed the extra pounds I could stand to lose.
Her tip shrinks once again. Because, really? I know my toes need some work, and I don't need you to point it out for me. I came to feel better about the state of my physical appearance, and now I'm trying to figure out how I'll get my grocery trip done while simultaneously sucking my upper lip into my mouth, and walking, toes tucked under my feet in my flip flops- or so fast that my feet are just one big blur. But that will cause bigger problems, because my kids will be left near the frozen bread, while I've already made my way to the self-checkout station.
She stands back proudly to admire her work, and hands me a smeary mirror to check for myself. Did all previous patrons lick the thing because they were treated with the same lack of respect as I? Her work looks acceptable, and I hand back the mirror, and she looks me in the eye, and she kills her tip. "Shoowa, uppa leep?"
"Yes, I'm sure" I respond, and gather the girls to go pay.
They lady who checks me out, asks if I want a manicure/pedicure. Seriously?? What is it with this place?
She says, "Seven dolla" and I hand her my card. I figure I'll get to add my meager tip when she prints out the receipt (honestly not clearly thinking because I'm still stunned by my new team of personal fixer-uppers).
She hands me my receipt which has no place for a tip, and tells me that the same lady who did my wax does the mani/pedi for when I come back.
Oh good. Because she's the first person I would request for my next waxing experience. Truly, the wax is torture enough.
I have no cash with me, and they can't run my card again unless it's over $10, so the lady gets no tip at all. And while I feel bad about this, I'll get over it, around the time the skin around my eyebrows is no longer red.