Windows to the soul Yesterday morning I was standing at my window, staring at my eyebrows, and occasionally glancing down at the window washers working on the dental hospital loading dock, wondering if they could see me. I was having my usual AM eyebrow-related-anxiety moment. Eyebrow shaping to me is like a game of Jenga: stressful. I don’t like to be stressed out so I avoid the whole mess by not playing Jenga or plucking my eyebrows, which leaves me a) no fun at parties and b) forced to smile when every few years someone says “hey, your eyebrows are back in style”. Also, both Jenga and eyebrow shaping employ the “everything was fine until…” scenario when in reality no, everything was not “fine until…” it is always the first move that sets you up for failure because there is no stopping once you start.
I spent many years not even thinking about the shape of my eyebrows until someone (it was Raj, the visiting make-up artist at the posh cosmetics counter) said, as only he could “Maybe theese? They could be a leetle theener.” And so it was done. You know what was in Pandora’s Box? Tweezers.
So why all the anxiety? Why not just go to a salon? Because what if I get the person who just graduated from beauty school with a C- in eyebrows? You know what I am talking about because you have seen them too- lopsided, drawn on, shaved off, growing in. There is simply too much at stake.
Heh, listen to me, I sound totally insane. Who spends this much time thinking about their eyebrows?
Those guys come to wash the windows of the dental hospital every Thursday at 8:15. Rain or shine.
