So, with all the woes of the world, let me tell you the issue I am most outraged by and feel there needs more public awareness around.
I realize this may seem like a small issue to many of you but we all need a cause and mine is that weird strip of hair over each eye that most of us have.
I have a hate/hate relationship with my eyebrows. I wish it were the style to just shave them off – I’d be first in line for that fashion trend. I know that it would be like not having a belly button though. We’d all look like something out of Alien Autopsy.
I started out with nice big bushy Gorbachev eyebrows that met enticingly in the middle of my forehead. Regrettably, this was before the whole bushy Brooke Shields look was totally awesome so I felt like a caveman amongst a sea of thin browed goddesses.
As it happened, one summer my mom’s older sister came out to Oregon to visit from New Jersey. Let me just give you a little snapshot of Aunt Del.
Her real name was Ismania De La Parra. Really. But, justifiably hating her name, she went by Del.
She was about 4’10 with breasts that probably measured about the same. And she was what the word flashy was invented for.
Aunt Del had unnaturally pitch black hair with two streaks of gray shooting out of her temples. And, she played it up by having a ultra teased bouffant style that added at least a foot to her 4’10” frame.
She wore entirely too much makeup, tight clothes and high heels. She had a terrible temper, swore like a sailor and did it all with the purest Jersey accent you have ever heard.
I believe she was the Chilean predecessor to Snooki’s guidette.
My father barely tolerated her, my mom sighed and rolled her eyes a lot (which she did a lot just in general), but to me she was an exotic flower that made my heart beat fast.
One weekend while she was visiting we went camping. And, because I used to get car sick on these trips, my parents gave me some motion sickness drug that would knock me out for most of the weekend and wear off just in time to clean the fish they caught while I was comatose.
I still don’t think I ever had motion sickness. I believe this was their version of pharmaceutical babysitting and forced servitude.
At any rate, we piled into the station wagon with Aunt Del’s steamer trunks and headed to the hills. I promptly fell into my usual stupor.
Next thing I really remember was climbing out of a fuzzy drug-induced sleep on a cot in our tent and seeing Aunt Del stooped over her make-up mirror putting on fake eyelashes.
She looked over at me, shook her head and said “We have got to do something about those eyebrows, honey.”
I was still very groggy and confused as she started to go through her tackle box and finally found her tools of choice – a small scissor and a huge tweezer.
She pinned me down and went to work. It was an excrutiating experience that felt like it took hours. There was a lot of brow geography to cover. I sneezed a lot, yelled, squealed and teared up. She was relentless.
When she was done I felt like someone had taken a lawnmower to my forehead. She threw a mirror in front of me and I gasped. I had two barely visible lines over each eye. This was not a subtle change.
When my parents got back to the campground after fishing, they took one look at me and shrieked. My father was livid with Aunt Del. A loud Irish New Yorker vs. a shrill Chilean Jersey girl. Trust me, it could make your ears bleed.
Everyone got over it eventually. Everyone but me that is. My eyebrows NEVER GREW BACK.
And now, we are back to the full brow look and here I sit, woefully inadequate and never being able to time the brow zeitgeist correctly.
And thus ends my tale of woe as I wait for the day someone discovers a cure for the thin-browed of our world.
Think I’ll hold a telethon.