Oh, I’d like to do a write-up of what it’s like to take a trip to the salon to get waxed.
For appropriate blog material, I’d write about the time I got my eyebrows waxed.
I’d like to do a write-up about the relaxing music in the background and the little waxing woman’s hug as I entered the room.
I’d like to write about how she laughed at me because I didn’t know I had to remove the relevant clothing (you know, the kind you take off to get your eyebrows waxed).
I’d like to write about the feeling of removing said attire, taking position on the reclined seat and realizing I’d left my white socks on and look like a dweeb.
I’d like to write about the conversation we had. The questions she’d ask me, and how as I started to answer, she’d rip the burning wax away.
Are you going anywhere for the holidays?
Yeah, I’m going to New York for (rip) NEW YEARS TO SEE A FRIEND.
Do you have a boyfriend?
Well not exactly but that friend in New York, I (rip) THINK HE’S ALRIGHT.
What does he do?
He’s (rip) LEAD SINGER IN A BAND.
He must be pretty talented.
Yeah, he (rip) PLAYS FOUR INSTRUMENTS.
I’d like to tell you she told me I was all done by saying, “Okay, Merry Christmas!”
I’d like to tell you far more than that, but no one would ever publish my children’s books.
No one would ever hire me.
I’d certainly never get to be President.
So I won’t.