I had been thinking about getting laser hair removal for a while, but I avoided seeking information because I was anxious. I also dread setting up appointments on the phone. (When I noticed there was a reputable laser place that had a chat function on their website, I was a bit more game. I know I’m not the only person to find sweet relief upon discovering a chat function.) Once I had the consultation scheduled, I felt like I was trending in the right direction, but the anxiety returned once I realized I would actually have to go to the place and do the thing(s). I’d have to interact with a person. I’d have to show said person the hair I had been trying to hide for years. I’d have to make a financial commitment that I would undoubtedly feel guilty about for at least a few weeks.

I was flustered but holding it together when I arrived at the “clinic.” (They call it a clinic.) I trusted the clinic manager immediately because she had curly hair, and for some reason I find curly-haired strangers inherently honest. (At least I recognize my prejudice, okay?) I’d follow a person with curly hair anywhere. If I ever get kidnapped and/or killed, and there is a line-up situation where someone has to identify the perpetrator, and one of the individuals among the selection has curly hair, it’s that person. When the curly-haired murderer said they heard a kitten crying in a dark alleyway and needed my help saving it, I thought to myself “How could this person do anything wrong? Their hair …