Threading where none have threaded before....

So I got up after the morning kicks, smiled, yawned and shook off my worries, they all fell to the ground like dandruff flakes. I could hear them screaming – “Don’t leave us in here, bitch!” - but I kept on my way and left them behind. I was on a mission to return back to my former human self. The Chewbacca look I was working had to go. I needed to recover my dignity. And it wasn’t going to happen sitting there puking and letting all my body hair grow out of control. So I went to the patio and took roll call, stood in line at the Jailbucks to get my Chai and bread and started inquiring about hair removal. Someone had to know something, as all the Indian women looked mysteriously well groomed for prisoners. So I started asking around my gang’o’bitches, - “Hey sweet Fatima, do you know where I can get my eyebrows fixed, waxed, plucked or lasered?” Sure Mexican, I’m glad you asked. – Her answer almost offended me, but I had no time to be offended. - There, across the patio, where the day care center is, we have a beauty salon, you can get nails painted, haircut, eyebrows threaded, and it’s good. She said. Very, very cheap. A few coupons will get you a complete overhaul. Wow! we have a day care center and a hair salon? Why wasn’t I informed about these perks?! – You are too busy crying Mexican - She said ironically. Life is not so bad in here; it’s better than outside. Here we have a place to sleep and food every day, and even hair salon – She was right, after seeing the way women live in India I could understand her perspective. Life was good in there, better than outside. Women that came in pregnant were able to keep their child until it turned 7. Children have school, food, and sleep in a safe place away from voulchers that prey on kids to create profitable enterprises. Many of the women in jail with me, had tried to protect their children from abusive fathers and grandfathers. Many women had tried to protect themselves or their daughters and showed their battle wounds almost with pride. Their burnt necks were only the tips of the lava like scars that ran down their entire bodies. Covered in battle scars they walked proudly dressed in bright colors. They had been burned while they slept. Dowsed with kerosene and lit with a match because they could no longer serve as ATM machines for their husband’s family. Yet, in there, they felt safe for the very first time. They felt pretty for the very first time. Respected, believe it or not, for the very first time. Life is cheap in India, almost worthless. Such a strange place, why was I here? And why didn’t I have any opium to guide me through this trip? Where was the invisible cat on the tree? As I asked myself these questions I headed down to the beauty parlor. I had my money coupons and a lot of hairy places to be threaded off while I contemplated my reasons for being here, now.