Ripped

One of the very few beautification indulgences I indulge in is a regular eyebrow waxing. As you know, I takes my chances on the haircut scene, I am no clothes horse, and I'm something of a "tomboy." But I am the tiniest bit vain about my eyes (which are large and blue-ish, with a ring of gold around the iris), as I consider them my best feature (besides my sparkling wit, natch) so I like to frame my pretty eyes with pretty eyebrows. Go ahead, judge me.

I got lured into this whole waxing thing when I lived in Syracuse, where people dressed far far more showy than they do here, and where, believe me, most of my friends waxed far far more than their eyebrows. The first time I got it done, I kept ogling myself in the rearview mirror as I was driving around town, thinking how fully gorgeous it looked. So I figure, what the hell. Something you can pay a tenspot for that will make you feel rippingly sexy? Pay the fricking tenspot.

But I gotta tell ya.

The best part about this whole waxing thing this time around is that I always go to this fabulous gal who used to do my hair (back when I could afford an expensive haircut) and I feel so bad about not getting her to do my hair anymore that I am religious about the whole eyebrow thing, because I somehow feel responsible for helping her pay her rent...

The thing is, she's known me for a few years, and she's really cool and nice. And she doesn't BS me at all, which is why I love her. And yesterday, she was all, "wow you have lost so much weight!"

Which, of course, I have.

But it often takes a person who you only see every couple of months to actually notice.

See, I'm at that point where I am not shy about the fact that I've lost weight, and I think I'm verging on (not there yet, but gaining on it) being hot again.

And no one. Has. Said. A. Word.

The black capri pants I was embarrassed to wear last summer are now so loose on me that they are officially hip-huggers, and therefore look more like full-length boot-cuts, they are so loose.

Old shirts that I couldn't even button up in February are now billowy on me.

So after I got my eyebrows ripped (as my old haircutter in NY used to call it), after my girl made me so happy by noticing the billowiness of my shirt and pants, I went home and did something I haven't done in a long time.

Weighed myself.

Um, yeah.

Dead sexy? Right here.