Plucking My Eyebrows

"Mommy!  Give me MY weezers!"  

I remember when I used to have the time to look at my face.  Really look at it.  Put make up on it.  Smile at it.  Now, when I get that split second of a glimpse as I, wow, surprise here, get to go pee pees without my shadow, I am in shock.  What the hell happened?  Did I really go to the park looking like this?  Smudged mascara accenting the bags under the right eye, hair disheveled and unbrushed.  Just trying to pull it together, I guess.  

I try and wipe the mascara off, and desperately resort to the awesome and powerful remover of all things, spit.  Spit thumb does the trick.  Grrr, at least the mascara is gone, but the bags, well, at the airline counter, they would probably charge me double.    

Magically, it is still quiet in the bathroom, I lean in, because my eyes are not as good anymore...or maybe because I really can't believe that's my face, and try to get a closer look.  Oh my gravy, look at those eyebrows!  When did that happen?  I just plucked them, like...(thinking...)...yesterday...(which really means last month).  Do I have the time to grab my tweezers?  Where are they?  Oh shoot, my son claimed them as his tool.  I know I have another pair, but he has my favorite, the ones that get just the right angle as to not make me scream with each follicle's removal.  

Oprah screaming.  Remember that episode when, this GA-zillionaire woman, all powerful and all knowing, screamed and cried getting her eyebrows plucked?  I laugh.  I guess we all have to do it.  At least I don't scream the way she does.  Although, she probably has hers done every day, and by a total professional.  I am lucky to get a single pluck in once a week.  But that scream of hers, it still makes me laugh. 

Back to the hunt for the tweezers...scanning...in my son's room...ah, there they are...right next to his favorite puppy dog and some leftover gummies...I don't want to know...but maybe the gummies will aid in my removal of that stubborn hair on my eyelid that never comes out the first thirty or so attempts.  A mommy can dream, right?  I know I must hurry, because I have now stolen his new favorite, and albeit, most creative tool.    

   

Plucking my eyebrows always leads to a questioning of my femininity.  I am not so glamorous, and let's face it, rich either, to go and get them done.  Although, according to my aunt, it's only 12 bucks...I can get two coffees for that and you know that's my passion!  I worry that I would go to the wrong place, and I end up looking worse!  I have watched the stuff about the lining up on your eye, and the arch, and I figure I can trust myself enough to stop and not pluck too far.  I guess I just always wonder if I did it right.  Pluck only from the bottom.  Brush them with the eyebrow brush, then pluck.  Start from the arch and move outward.  Sure.  Sure.  But, is it right?  Eyebrows have so much to do with our faces.  Our faces have so much to do with our identity.  It even says so in this article from Psychology Today, "The Real Purpose of Eyebrows"...see, I'm not crazy wondering about my eyebrows and their purpose in my life.  My obsession with doing it right...that seems all to familiar...and, I am beginning to think, even if I went and traded my two coffees for the designer brow place, I would still wonder if it was right.  

I have got to attack these suckers and forget the shaping for now, and just remove the strands of the uni-brow.  I am woman, hear me roar.  Ouch.  Eye water.  First pluck is always the hardest.  Right eye going strong, no mascara smudge, and now no random eyebrow hairs.  Then, wait for it,  "Mommy, those are MY weezers!  That's MY tool!"  My scrambling attempts to even start on the left eye...questioning if I really want to put a potentially sharp object pointed at my eye with my son grabbing and insisting I give him back his favorite new tool.  My bargaining..."here sweetie, play with mommy's blush brush..."  His continued insistence..."No, that's my favorite tool!"  

I give up.  The left eyebrow will have to wait...until I get another quiet visit to the bathroom...until I can find my favorite tool...at least my son and I have that in common...MY tweezers are our favorites.