On Day 10, I am grateful for tweezers. You probably think I’m kidding; I promise I’m not. I admit the idea came to me at the last possible minute. I haven’t had a gratitude-filled day. I am tired and cranky, and I’m tired of being tired and cranky. While it’s true that 2014 hasn’t been too bad so far, the bulk of my problems from 2013 have unfortunately followed me here. Not shockingly, they have not been resolved in the first 10 days. (Well, save for the lack-of-laptop situation, which was fixed by the arrival of Chris’ new laptop, thank goodness.) Anyway, I don’t want to sully a gratitude post with too much misery, so I’ll just reiterate that I haven’t been feeling grateful today. As a result, choosing a topic has been somewhat challenging. As I was standing in front of the magnifying mirror tonight, it hit me. Tweezers!
I had ridiculously thick eyebrows as a teenager, and not in a sexy Brooke Shields kind of way. While I thankfully never suffered the indignity of a uni-brow, my eyebrows were a problem, and one I didn’t feel capable of dealing with. They had no natural arch at all – they were thick, unruly caterpillar-like demons perpetually encroaching on the rest of my face. I hated them, but plucking seemed both painful and complicated… what if I screwed it up? I see pictures of myself from this period and just shudder. Horrifying.
At some point during college I overcame my fear of tweezers and went to war. I won many battles, and my eyebrows were much, much improved. But it was a laborious, unpleasant process. Over the years various boyfriends and eventually even my husband tried to convince me that “natural is better.” That is, until they saw the pictures of my eyebrows in their natural state. Even my husband, who loves me “exactly as I am” looked at the pictures and remarked that maybe they didn’t need to be quite that natural. This is a man who has seen me through 40-pound weight shifts without comment, or loss of interest. The eyebrows scared even him.
In the late 90s I read in one of my magazines about Anastasia, the Beverly Hills eyebrow guru. She was expensive, but seemed worth it to me. I think it was $40 back then, and the results did seem magical. She was quick and decisive, and it changed how I felt about my face. After all of the daily maintenance with tweezers, the speed of wax was bliss. I continued to get my eyebrows waxed, once a month, by one of Anastasia’s many protégés. That was comparatively cheap at a mere $25 per visit, not including tip. My eyebrows were fabulous, and I have my wedding pictures as permanent evidence.
And now? Spending that much money on my eyebrows has clearly become an impossibility. I’ve been to cheaper places since, but it’s still money I can’t justify and I’ve never been entirely satisfied. So it’s back to daily tweezing for me. I’ve gotten pretty good at maintaining a decent shape on my own. They’re not quite as great as they once were, but they’ll do. I hate the process, though. Avery often gazes at me with concern while I’m plucking and asks if it hurts. It’s not excruciating, but I don’t love it. I especially hate the speed at which they seem to grow, and that the strays are so not subtle… very fair skin and dark brown hair. *sigh* But still, it beats the return of the caterpillar demons. So there you go. I am grateful for tweezers, without which I would have very, very different eyebrows. It’s the little things.
Bet you didn’t think anyone could write this much about tweezers. Ha!