Bad eyebrow day
I woke up to be told by the mirror that overnight I had grown a unibrow. I turned my back, asked the mirror nicely if it could please tell the truth, and turned back. It was still there. Shit.
OK. Maybe it didn't entirely grow overnight. I admit I may have let things slip a little in that department, but I swear to God that I had two distinct eyebrows last night. Not one. Not a furry beast of an eyebrow.
So I set about transforming the furry beast into two sleek arches. Out come the tweezers.
Five minutes later, I decide that taking my glasses off and putting the light on might help a little. I don't want to look permanently startled, like my sister.
I know she has a good excuse (I hit her over the head with a toy hoover in my younger years and split her eyebrow; the hair has never grown back), but that isn't the look for me. She can arch that brow better than I can.
So....back to the unibrow. I managed to separate them into two bushes, but I've neglected them for so long that I can't use the stubbly bits as a guide to what I need to pluck. I have to work freehand.
It is much harder than I remember. One false pluck and I will look slightly deranged. So I pluck slowly and steadily - doing that thing where you rearrange the hairs to check what it might look like if you remove it.
Nearly there. Just a couple of bits left.
And there's the trouble. I have one hair left on one eyebrow that needs to be plucked. But do you think I can grip the little fucker? No, it is wily. It doesn't want to die.
I turn the tweezers. The hair slips through my grasp. I try again through gritted teeth, but the deviant hair mocks me. It gloats. It isn't going anywhere.
Me against an evil black hair. A battle that has plagued womankind ever since some bloke decided that women needed immaculate eyebrows and devised the tweezers so that they could torture themselves to please the eye of said man. No woman would come up with such a daft idea. Women give birth, and so have little desire to create additional pain for themselves. This is clearly the work of a man. And I hope that he gets it. Good. Painfully. With methods involving tweezers and nostril hairs. And possible some hot pokers; not that I am vindictive or anything.
I've tried every trick. But that bugger is going nowhere. I have dents in my skin, I am bleeding and yet it remains. A lesser, or saner woman might give up. But not I.
I've been to work with my top inside out. I've been to Edinburgh a week early. I will go to work with a mangled eyebrow. That hair is coming out! It is a battle of wills, not beauty.
So far.......I have removed three hairs that I didn't plan on removing. I have lost a large chunk of skin. And blood. The hair remains.
I am talking to a hair. Well, actually I am threatening a hair. Although threats of extreme pain to a hair are futile, I know. Especially since I am in pain now from my attempts to get the little shit. Retrieving Harvey from the neighbours tree is a picnic compared to this.
It's time to get reinforcements. No, not a beautician.
Except I don't know where my implement of choice is. My eyebrow is bleeding and throbbing and the cats want to go out. Dinner is nearly cooked, and yet I am ransacking drawers and cupboards.
Papers fly, cats run, marbles scoot across the floor (where the hell did they come from?) and I find my lost phone charger. I was wondering where that had gone.......
There! Got it. And out slides the little fucker, just like a skewer in a well cooked cake.
My implement?
Nail clippers.
And I suppose that now they are in front of me, I should really do my nails too.
posted by DMouse007 @ 4/12/2004 04:51:00 PM
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