While I was there, I asked for my usual bikini wax. ![]() I hid my face in shame and hightailed it to my salon, where my waxing lady whisked it away with one strip. One day I was applying lipstick in my rearview mirror and there in the bright sunlight was a tiny mustache. Now Charlotte had brought the unmentionable out into the open. I thought pulling out the tiny saplings that had recently begun sprouting on my 41-year old face was a secret. What? Did Charlotte just acknowledge to a patio full of strangers that she had been removing unwanted hair? Was that allowed? “I was having trouble plucking a nasty hair from my chin.” ![]() “I’m sorry I’m late,” my very proper southern friend Charlotte announced as she breezed on to the pool party I was giving at our home in Singapore.
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