Deb: My eyebrows are antsy. Apparently no one told them they were
lifers. As a result, they are trying to escape. Taking the cowards way out,
they plot after hours, when I am asleep. Unlike the hairs on one’s head,
eyebrow hairs do not suddenly stick up or fly away in broad daylight while you
are looking in the mirror. Head hairs are the fair players we depend on them to
be.
When you are losing head hair, you know it. It falls out. When
your ends are splitting or your grey is growing, head hair is totally upfront
about it. No so with the sneaky brows. They possess the stealth clandestine
traits of Geisha who’s late for work.
I guess we should have known all along we couldn’t trust the
brows. I mean, come on, look at how easily and swiftly the brow can change your
emotions or express your thoughts. They are the Hal of facial parts. They are con artists, these brows. These
shifty, funny, happy, crafty, devilish, sheepish, angry, pained, disappointed
shape shifters.
The mistake we make, I fear, is the plucking. For at that point,
just as we are reaching puberty and our bodies start to party, we start
plucking the brows. Poor plucked bastards. And we pluck and we wax and we
weave. And finally, with themselves raised, the tables turn. And now they are in control. We are hapless Keir
Dulleas.
And while I sleep the vengeful brows are curling and twisting and
reaching for the light, looking for the end of the tunnel. And when I wake up,
there is nothing I can do about it. So I pluck.
And the cycle repeats. Your move brows.
Barbara: Hilarious, Deb! I’ve noticed the eyebrow rebellion—mostly
on men, whose brows tend to be more … hirsute. The head turns, it hits the
light just so, and there it is this strange, otherworldian filament, doing god
knows what, but not in the least resembling a “normal” eyebrow anymore. That
said, for myself, I have to say, the brows are more in “disappearing mode”. As
is most of my body hair. I guess it’s still a good development—chores like
shaving and plucking and waxing have taken more and more of a far-backseat (compared
to grooming days of yore). Of course, I may still face the errant brow
escapades one day, but for now, the escape seems to be all a disappearing act.
