Spent 8 minutes this morning having my eyebrows shaped. Yes, I am aware how ridiculous this is. That a decent pair of tweezers and a steady hand can do the same thing and for $30 less.
But there’s the rub. I don’t have a steady pair of hands – nor do I trust my visual abilities to know if I’ve done the trick or not. When I started seeing Connie two years ago, my fascist technician, she fairly yelled at me for the destruction I had brought on my face.
“This is too short. This is too skinny. You cannot touch your eyebrows ever again. Do you see this?”
But of course, that’s the point. I didn’t. I guess I thought my mishapened arches were holding up my face just fine. Although, of course, I suspected they weren’t anymore — which is why I handed them over to the furious, immensely skilled hands of Connie. She cuts. She waxes. She tweezes. It’s terrible – and terrific.
Now I like to believe my eyebrows could hold their own against any others. They’re arched. They’re long. They’re full – but not too full. In short, they’re better than anything my sad little silver tweezer had accomplished ever since I picked her up that first day in graduate school. (And yep, I still have the same one.)
So yes, I like to believe that my bi-monthly (every 8 weeks) visits are critical to my well-being. To my being able to hold my head up high and say, “Oh yes. I know my eyebrows are glorious. I know you’re loving them……Just don’t look at my hair.”