The other day, I met with a facilities worker who, if he so desired, could have easily braided his eyebrow hair and even added some attractive rasta beads to his dangling brow-locks. It was quite something to behold. He was almost tripping over them.
I have relatively hairy eyebrows and I live in fear that, as I grow older, they will similarly take over my face. In my goth days of yore, I tweezed them into a suitably malevolent arch, but I refuse to go the whole metrosexual route in my advanced years. Ray already barges into the bathroom at inopportune moments; I don’t want to have to explain “Daddy’s plucking his eyebrows.”
Amy will occasionally point out a single lengthy strand when she notices it, and I appreciate her candor and willingness to call my attention to my grooming shortcomings. I’ve never felt comfortable issuing such advice, even to those close to me. An ex-girlfriend of mine, otherwise quite attractive, had a nose hair issue that I never brought up. There were times I considered waiting until she was asleep and then getting out the scissors.
I guess the true measure of love is the willingness to say: “Honey, you really need to trim/pluck/shave that.”
Comments
If you ever start balding in your dotage, you can grow your eyebrows and incorporate them into your combover. Oh, won't you be the heartthrob down at the senior center!
Posted by: arrmac | August 1, 2006 7:18 PM
Major, I'm really glad you waxed your back. You look so much better.
Posted by: Jennifer | August 2, 2006 6:09 AM