Thumbs. Most people have two. Some people have funny toes that resemble thumbs. Ok, not people, maybe those are monkeys. Regardless, I should have learned after the zucchini slicing incident of August 2011, which ruined my soaring guitar career, that one can get injured in the kitchen. (Please note, by soaring, I mean I completed my first eight lessons and learned my scales. Ok, I sort of learned a scale.) Still, life goes on, people have barbeques, things need to get done, guests arrive early and parts of my thumb can get cut off in a mandolin. Ouch. Don’t worry folks, I threw away that cucumber.
Besides the fact that anything involving water turned into a pre-planned event, it just hurt. Those stupid finger cot things are great for showering and washing dishes (while avoiding the mandolin at all costs). It is not fun however, when the highlight of your barbeque revolves around you having a tiny condom on your finger. Ok, I’m lying, Continue reading →
As I got ready to leave the house the other day, I did a quick check in the mirror.
“Geez, when is the last time I plucked my eyebrows?”
They’re horrendous. There is barely even evidence that two exist.
I started thinking about how often this happens. I realized how many correlations there are between my eyebrows and my life. These aren’t exactly highlights of my existence, but it’s the truth none the less.
I neglect my eyebrows until they are so horrible, that I need to spend thirty minutes to pluck and fix them up, only to repeat the cycle all over again later; no matter how many times I promise myself that I won’t wait so long next time. I take care of everything in my life timely and appropriately, but myself. I neglect myself like I neglect my eyebrows, putting us both off and taking care of others until it’s so obvious that I need some personal attention that I become my own hassle to fix. It’s painful. For both of us.
My eyebrows are naturally pretty wild. Wild doesn’t fit well in most of the environments I find myself in, so my eyebrows and I fix ourselves up to fit in. We trim up; conform to get ourselves in shape. Who said a unibrow isn’t sexy anyway? I bet French women could pull it off. Who said two was fashionable? I kid, of course.
Thick. No matter how thin I’ve ever been, no matter how much I wished for my Mom’s eyebrows instead of my Dad’s, my eyebrows and I are thick. My Mom told me that she plucked her eyebrows when she was twelve and they stayed that way, she never had to touch them again. I might as well have caterpillars above my eyes. And even at 120 pounds, I was dense, just never quite light as a feather.
Dark. I’m pretty positive, and I produce optimistic outlooks for almost every situation typically, but I also think there’s a dark side. My eyebrows and I are dark. Sure we lighten up when it’s bright and sunny, but we know that deep down, we’re a little different and sometimes I think things I shouldn’t. Nothing illegal, but definitely embarrassing.
Long. I see girls with cute little eyebrows, made up of short little feathery hairs. We’ve already determined that my eyebrows and I are thick, but we are also long. Long limbs, long eyebrow hairs. Part of what makes keeping the brows and I in shape, is dealing with the awkward combination of our qualities. Sure, trim a little here, trim a little there, and then pluck. Sounds simple. Not so. Every time I pick a hair to go, I have to think, “If this hair goes, will a little bald spot be left behind?” Being long limbed and having these long eyebrow hairs is awkward. Nothing quite fits and the slightest wrong movement and I look like a goofy and ungroomed idiot.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the brows have good qualities, as I know I do but every now and then, who doesn’t need a critical evaluation? If I can figure out a way to maintain consistent care, instead of “all or nothing”, we’d be a happy pair. Yes, that’s a joke, a pair of eyebrows instead of one. Did I tell you my eyebrows also can’t tell jokes? Funny, neither can I.