I remember my first run-in with an gnarly ingrown hair
clearly. I was studying abroad in France, and thanks to a particularly tight pair of stockings and a whole lot of walking, a tiny bump developed into a nub so angry and inflamed, I had to name it. (Also, to amuse my friends.) Its très chic moniker was Claudette. I picked and prodded at Claudette, the trapped hair from hell, with absolutely zero success. After a few days, my skin calmed down and the lump shrank to a smaller, more manageable size before disappearing. Luckily, I was able to forget about the incident... until recently.