| [ |
mood |
| |
 amused |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Get It Together," by Seal |
] |
Yesterday something went wrong.
It was one of the wonderfully efficient girls at the nail salon who put the idea in my head, but it was my own clumsy self that put the actual blade in my hand. While I was having little white flowers with silver sparkly centers painted on my index fingernails, the young lady wielding the artistic implements cleverly suggested an upsell.
Would I like her to do something with my eyebrow. Singular. You know, wax it.
Now, I’ve had some facial waxing in the past and enjoyed it. The wax feels warm and wonderful, kind of like a thick massage oil that pulls hair out by the roots when you remove it. So, it wasn’t cowardice that caused me to decline. It was a combination of being cheap – and liking my eyebrows. Plural. Just fine the way they are. Well, maybe with an occasional tweeze just to burn some time and tidy things up a bit.
But still, she’d put this idea in my mind and, being in the middle of pre-trip stress, I succumbed.
I didn’t go for the waxing, of course. That might have avoided the blood and drama, after all. No, I purchased one of those cheap three-blades-in-one-pack of eyebrow/bikini area shapers and figured I’d take care of things on my own. How difficult could it be, anyway? A little clean-up in between, maybe some smoothing along the length, and everything would be lovely. I’d for sure want to slice off the wild hairs that inhabit my left brow, of course. Surely they violate some fashion law or other, what with their definite shift in the opposite direction of all their fellow hairs…
So I stood in front of my medicine cabinet mirror with my reading glasses on top of my head and promptly learned that it’s all in the angle of the blade. At first, I accomplished nothing other than a random waving around of the tiny blade. The hairs were unimpressed and unremoved. Realizing that it was all in the wrist, I changed how I held mine – and promptly laid my forehead open with a deft twist. Not the effect I’d been hoping for.
Common sense tried to tell me that this kind of work might not be for me, but the sight of my own blood only made me more determined. If I was going to have a dueling scar, however briefly, I’d better have neatly coiffed eyebrows to show for it; so off I went in search of the renegade eyebrow’s most determined offenders. Soon I stood in front of the mirror with blood running between my eyes, slightly more uniform looking eyebrows, and the feeling that I should have left things alone because, although things looked fine – they didn’t look quite right. And it wasn’t just the blood and narrow cut.
Things didn’t improve after my sweet Puppetman came home. After I confessed my foolishness to him and asked for suitable cut-related sympathy, he admitted that as soon as he’d seen me, he’d had the feeling that something was missing. My errant eyebrow, I was informed, is an important part of my “look.” In an attempt to look a little bit more like women’s magazines want me to think I should look, I’d managed to look a little bit less like me – and not in a good way.
As I frantically pack before heading to the airport and the Adult Entertainment Expo and AVN Award adventures that await me and Puppetman, who is serving as faithful cameraman and videographer in addition to his other, more overtly saucy, positions of responsibility, I wonder what other revelations await. Travel always brings new insights, but hopefully the ones I’ll encounter during the next week will be less bloody, if not necessarily less meaningful.
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
darklady_produc's journal
and amused
and activated
uncomfortable
but happy
busy
determined