Frida Kahlo No More
For the millions (billions?) of Chickarina readers who have been awaiting an update in The Continuing Saga of My Eyebrows, you may now exhale.
Since calling two weeks ago and being told that my caterpillar situation was not to be accommodated before today, I have been living a wretched life (if you could even call it that) as a Groucho Marx lookalike. The before pictures, well, there aren't any because it was so hideous. This eve I did pay a visit to the one who is known as Meany McHatesMePants. And while she did not compliment my fortitude in holding out so long--I assure you I did not pluck one hair since last I reported--she did tell me that my brows were "beautiful" when she was done.
She then ushered me over to the mirror and added a caveat: "You see, they're perfect until you do that." That, my friends, is raise my eyebrows, which in normal faces is a regular occurrence, and in my face is a quite frequent and involuntary one. I'm no Acknowledge-You-With-Just-Brows Jackass, but I do have, as I have been told, an "expressive face."
That said, I present to you the overtired, sweaty, possibly sun-spotted and yes, expressive face of a writer who's been in so-co all weekend working but who has, you must admit, some very close-to-perfect brows. Watch out, world.