Hairy

My eyebrows have gotten out of control.

I have one of those super-duper magnifying mirrors, and a few weeks ago I decided that my brows were looking like a forgotten autumn garden. I wanted them to grow just a little more; I wanted more of a crop. So, I let them go. It’s not going so well. Correction, I thought it was going well until I looked into that blasted mirror this afternoon.

Without the mirror I definitely had the whole Frida Kahlo deal happening, and it was a little disturbing to be honest with you, but you gotta see these things through. Close up, in that mirror: Abe Lincoln. Carl Malden. Dear God, help me, I have Albert Einstein eyebrows. I ran for a tape measure for the utmost mathematical accuracy. I had a hair hanging over my eye, attached to my skin that measured a smidgen over one-half inch. I’m a woman for Christ’s sake how is this possible? Okay, okay! There were several. More than a couple. What’s happening? Am I alone here? Anybody out there?

I am all alone. I am me - Long Brows. I recommend the magnification of one’s face; just don’t take it personally when it’s all over with. Be thankful that you saw it before somebody else. The bastards can be cruel.

I need a professional facial hair person. I drove to a cosmetic surgeon’s office; it was 1:24 this afternoon. (I noticed their sign after a dentist’s appointment awhile back, in the beautiful, tall, tiled building with warning signs posted that say, “Watch for falling tile.” I’m not kidding.) The damn door was locked, lights off. I don’t understand what’s happening. I have questions. I need answers. First, somebody tell me why a new, ten-story building was tiled with eight by eight squares using bad glue. Who does that?

I need a professional facial hair person, everything else will fall into place. Where will it fall? Nobody's quite sure yet; they've left the building. Shit's falling; shit's growing. What's one to do?