Let me set the scene: It’s 11 p.m. on Christmas Eve, and I—a nearly 30-year-old big-city girl—am rummaging through my mom’s bathroom cabinet in sheer desperation. Among the crusty nail polishes and half-empty hairspray cans, I find a sticky bottle of hair removal cream from 2014. The stench hits me so hard, I’m shocked it didn’t wake the house (or, at the very least, filter through my stepdad’s CPAP machine). By 12 a.m. on Christmas Day, I’d booked my first Laser Hair Removal appointment at LaserAway.Before my desperation pushed me to finally book the appointment, I’d tried it all: scalding wax, chemical burns, razors that left me with ingrowns—those tiny, persistent beauty betrayals. My body hair grew back faster and angrier every time, like it had a personal vendetta against me. My coworkers swore by laser hair removal, and our wellness editor Josie (who I trust with my life), is obsessed with LaserAway. But the time and price commitment was a little daunting for someone who’d been b…