Bethanyisms (Eyebrow Woes)

When I pluck one, two grow back in its place.

Annoying? yes.

A blessing? absolutely.


My mom took me to get my first wax when I was thirteen. My eyebrows had become akin to those of Frieda and Oscar the Grouch. I was a social misfit anyway and my forehead unibush was only complicating matters.

Some might argue that I was too young for such a procedure (facial waxing)… and they were right. The responsibilities of eyebrow grooming were far beyond my maturity level and my tweezers were insatiable.

By fourteen, I had accidentally tweezed off the outer half of each of my eyebrows. I looked scary, but at least I then had two separate eyebrows.



Remember that… yeah, I bet you do.

I finally realized the magnitude of my problem when I looked in the mirror and saw Spock staring back.



Thus, the evolution of my eyebrows continued. As I regrew the length of my brows, the width took a plunge. Pretty soon my eyebrows had become mere slivers of what they once were. You know the look.



Thanks to my uncanny talent for resprouting unwanted facial hair (some might call it a spiritual gift), my eyebrows have recovered time and time again from the endless cycle of torture and experimentation. A blessing and a curse.

Luckily, Ryan and I met during a "good-eyebrow" year.