Alternate recipe requires honey and lemon. I have no idea how this occurs, except the smell is like some kind of cross between a slow death by sugar suffocation and desperation, the kind of desperation you feel when you realize your mother and sister plan on using you as the test subject for cooked honey.
Suffice to say, I shave everywhere that can be visible in a bathing suit on pretty much a daily basis, and let me tell you, me and my razor have reached that bonding stage where i can do calf to hip in thirty seconds flat braced against the bathroom door the second I come inside and realize I smell *burning sugary substance*. That's almost three feet per leg, yo. I have *skills*.
Wait, I should go back and explain.
Apparently, the sugar process is really, really, really delicate. Think puff pastry while standing on your head singing epic poetry. We did about six or seven trials with the sugar/water/lemon thing before Mom ran across the honey thing--expensive, but it allows a little more in the way of flexibility, and the second batch, the results were spilled out to cool and be used. And it *is* really intersting, in a 'wow, I have a lot more love for my razor than I knew, when the other option is ripping it out with this tiny golden ball of sugary sweetness' way. My sister volunteered and I was in another room, but the bloodcurdling scream of Friday the Thirteenth, the Hair Revolts, was someting to hear, and brought me in to see that yes, it works, and wow, it also *removes skin*.
Let me say this again. SKIN.
But worth it, despite the screaming--and y'all who have had children, yes, *that* kind, I'm so not kidding, but there were flashbacks to my labor-and-delivery that you would *not* believe--they got the job done and yes, six weeks, no hair growth. Whoo and fucking Hoo.
I immediately absconded to the bathroom and made eminently and thoroughly sure that there was no fucking way I could be chatted into doing that to myself. This continues. Electrolysis is looking good, and sadly, for once, it's not even my vanity speaking. This is *self-preservation*.
We will never discuss this again. There is a massive thing of sugar in the kitchen and my sister is hinting she's ready for another go this week.
I'm going to make cookies this week. A lot of cookies. Two ten bag pounds of sugar lot of cookies. Or hell, marzipan at this point. Whatever works.
ETA: fixed spelling of halawa so you, too, can consider the horrific ramifications