Last week as my hairdresser trimmed my last split end, I asked her on a whim, "Do you wax eyebrows?"
I wasn’t really thinking I wanted to have my eyebrows waxed for the first time, but then suddenly I had really asked and there she was really responding, "Yes, I do eyebrows … come right over here!" She pointed to what looked to be a massage table (without the masseuse) and I dutifully laid down as she began to explain the waxing process.
"I’ll be putting this hot wax on your face and then placing a piece of paper on top of the hot wax. Then, right when I have you the most distracted, I’ll be ripping the paper off along with half your facial hair," she said matter-of-factly.
I began to hyperventilate and my palms started to sweat so much I could have provided enough water for a year for 10 thirsty camels in the Sahara desert. I think she was rambling about some irrelevant subject like global warming and melting glaciers, but all I could think about was how I would look when all this was said and done. Would I have a huge arch in my eyebrows so I had a clown face without all the clown makeup? Or would I have to pencil in my eyebrows for the rest of my living years (and perhaps in in the after life too) just like my Grandma did? The thought was terrifying enough that now my feet began to sweat. At this rate, we wouldn’t have to worry about droughts in my part of the world for quite some time.
"… and then I worried if all the glaciers melt, we won’t have any water left to drink and then what will we do?" she chattered and suddenly I felt, "RRIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPP!"
"There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?" she asked. Without waiting for me to respond (which is good because my mouth had frozen open in the scream position), she applied wax to the other eyebrow. She tried to soothe me, "Now, I’m just following the normal arch of your eyebrow." I tried to concentrate on what the normal arch of my eyebrow looked like, but just as I had the vision in my mind, I felt "RRIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPP!" again.
"GOOD GOD!" I yelled as I tried to push my eyeballs back in their sockets. "DO I HAVE ANY EYEBROWS LEFT?"
She stepped back and handed me the mirror. "You think this is bad," she said, "You should feel a bikini wax."
I closed my eyes and held the mirror up to my face. I slowly opened my eyes. "WOW!" I shouted in surprise. "I LOOK GREAT!" I stared at my eyebrows that now had a natural-looking shape and ran my finger along the skin that felt as soft as a baby’s bottom. I could get into this waxing procedure. Definitely worth the pain.
Since that day, I’ve been hoping that someone, somewhere will notice my beautifully coifed and shaped eyebrows. I’ve been trying to draw attention to my forehead by raising my eyebrows at strangers, who unfortunately think they are suddenly in trouble by someone other than their Mom and run away in fear. Despite all that, I’ve come to the wonderful realization that my eyebrows no longer resemble Andy Rooney’s eyebrows when he’s doing his weekly segment on 60 Minutes.
I suppose you’re wondering about that bikini wax, aren’t you? Keep dreaming people. I’m not that stupid.