wax my toes? no, never....

You can feel like a rat under a microscrope being the only chick in a bloke's office. My colleague couldn't stop smirking as he dropped me off at Gaza's poshest beauty salon. Six hours later, I called him to pick me up.

"God, it took you that long to do your hair?" he asked, giving me the once over.

I pondered: Should I go into the funny details: a body wax, manicure, pedicure, eyebrows, facial, and then finally, a blow dry?

Hmm. No.

In the meantime, I've missed three calls from my other colleague.

"Six hours?" he asks, as I walk in, "what for? You don't like any different!"

I then cop a five-minute whine about all the news I missed while I was out "lying on your back being pampered.

"If you were getting married you wouldn't take that long," he concluded.

Sadly, I really don't look that different. My badly self-cut fringe is still crooked, although lovely Vera, the Ukranian hairdresser tried to fix it for me; my skin still has red spots; although I am now body hair free...yayyy!

Perhaps that's something only mediterranean types can understand. I feel four kilos lighter.

One of my (non-Arab) colleagues once expressed her surprise that "there are women out there who wax their toes."

...while I quietly choked on my coffee.

Are there women who don't?

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