Mirror, Mirror

I'm a Persian girl. We middle eastern girls love us some hair-removal conversation. It's true. Afternoons have passed with a delightful repartee of online chat with my girlfriends regarding the best pricing for laser this or the best tip for waxing that. It comes with the cultural territory. My story isn't graphic, just sad. Sit down, for I seek comfort.

You see, yesterday I had eyebrows. In fact, I arguably had too much eyebrow, so I sought the care of a certified professional whom I had visited once before for said service. I entered her lair of muzak and dim lighting. We were chit-chatting and gossipping (clearly I have been too busy doing it to learn how to conjugate it properly), and before i knew it, I felt pain in a new part of my eyebrow. It just felt wrong. Bad touching.

I probably don't have to tell you that I emerged with part of my eyebrow missing. I wish I could tell you it was the top, extraneous bit, or the between-eyebrows bit, but what was missing was the MIDDLE of my eyebrow. There is a hole in my eyebrow. You know the expression "to raise your eyebrow"? That's the part that's missing! And then the end of it is there, like an afterthought.

I took pencil to it for a temporary touch-up and now live in fear of wiping my brow (I'm at a writers conference, sweating is only a natural reaction, having been followed to my room and/or the bathroom before by overzealous talent). Sheesh.

Fortunately I have resources. Tomorrow I will start a discussion thread re: eyebrow transplants, but I won't be happy about it.