It was Christmas eve…
I decide to be a grown up, and by “grown up” I mean “remove facial hair.”
I have a light mustache to match my unibrow and while I want to be a good example of accepting myself, hair and all, to my daughter, I don’t want my facial hair to outdo my husband’s.
I get out the Nair to go after my lower lip because I’m cheap, and if I’m going to leave the house without the kids for 30 minutes, it’s not going to be so someone can rip hair off my face. For those unfamiliar with Nair and the short shorts girls, it’s a hair removal paste that causes any hair underneath it to fall off within 5-7 minutes. Through magic and acid.
While painting my lip with Nair, I take a closer look at my eyebrows. I have pretty much have two because I’ve kept up with the plucking, but my eyebrows seem to be trying to out flank me and make a run up my temples.
So I lather some Nair above my eyebrows, but the stinging in my eyes makes the application a bit uneven. I try to wipe it off but by now, all my fingers are covered in Nair, and although not having fingerprints may prove useful in murders, I’m no Dexter. As I get the Nair rinsed off my hands, the burning of my face begins and THAT’S HOW I KNOW IT WORKED. Also, it’s one minute left until my lip peels off.
I begin to wipe off my upper lip before it’s bursts into flame then I move on to above my eyebrows. I look closer while the tissue removes the hair and see some eyebrow disappear.
I try not to panic.
Then I wash off my face and panic.
I walk downstairs and Scott greets me: Why’s your upper lip red?
Me: I nair-ed.
Scott: So you replaced your hair with a burn?
Me: Shut-up and look at my eyebrow.
Scott: Oh my.
I go back to wrapping presents in the hope that I will forget the series of Christmas photos where I imitate Vanilla Ice.
But I can’t stop touching the eyebrow and with every touch more hair comes off. Who cares? Well, first, it will be immortalized in 73 pictures tomorrow. Second, I have dealt with my eyebrows since I was eleven years old. I’ve had one, two, thin, bushy and somewhere in between. Finding my eyebrows has been a long journey.
And now I have three.
I furrow my bushy eyebrow with my one-hit-wonder eyebrows and decide action must be taken. I grab my tweezers and begin plucking.
My backup plan was to tweeze Scott’s eyebrows in solidarity. Also in his sleep.