Mama took my eyebrows

A tragic tale of waxing gone awry

I woke up this morning and said “NO” to the sesame street eyebrows that I have abandoned for far too long. Well beyond the tweezing stage, I knew it would require shaping and skill to tame the little face caterpillars. I went to work with a mission. Noon rolled around quickly enough and I headed out to attend to the matter at hand. Did I go to Aveda? Sadly, no. How about Ulta? They do a good job. Again, no. The tightwad in me went to a nail salon. (That was my second mistake; my first was getting out of bed this morning.) I walked in and let the smell of acrylic tickle my nostrils. I went to a darkened room, a rose-colored sheet over the fluorescent light. An unidentified stain brightened the otherwise dull white pillow. The woman whose hands my facial expression would later be in flipped the pillow quickly, a mumbled apology on her lips. The other side had a larger, angry, red stain. She flipped it back with a shrug. Her tiny hands pulled me down. I resisted, it is true, but her insistent urging lulled me into a false sense of security. It is but an eyebrow waxing, not brain surgery, I said to myself. Note to self, never listen to self. She blew the wax in soft quick bursts of air. She seemed nervous, not like the ones I have had before (and oh, there have been many). Quickly, she smeared the sticky substance on my eye, pulling the skin taunt. The strip of fabric, smoothed over quickly by her fingers, and then the most searing pain imaginable. Frantically, I reached for my poor eyebrow, fingers seeking to find even one strand of hair remaining. Sigh. There was, at least, something left above my right eye. She forgot to blow on the wax for the left eye. Silently, I wept. She surveyed her handiwork before going at me with tweezers. My tears made her work difficult and she was forced to wipe the evidence of my pain away, laughing her apology. I fled the room, eyes down, only to be accosted by another woman at the desk. This woman yelled unintelligibly to the woman who had created my new, apparently quite uneven, facial expression. I was forced back into the room where an attempt to make my eyebrows symmetrical failed again. Now, I carry a constant look of surprise, shock, and awe. Eyebrows do grow back, correct?



Kudos to all who caught the Grey’s reference.