Eyebrows...

The other night, I was laying on my bed and my beloved fiancee decides it would be fun to start plucking my eyebrows. I did try to resist, but there was nothing I could do, without throwing her bodily off the bed. Eventually, with much crying and pleading... on my part I finally give in, and she starts the process of emasculating me via eyebrow tweezers. Each hair she pulls feels like a burning needle being shoved into my skull, all the while she comments on how wimpy I am because I am sobbing like a little girl who has just finished watching Ol' Yeller for the first time. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, while she happily hums a nameless tune and I am sure that I have passed out at least twice. She sports a self-satisfied grin as she announces triumphantly that she is done. While I gingerly touch the slightly swollen flesh, that use to be my eyebrows, she steps back to admire her handy work. And then I hear it... Possibly the worst thing a vulnerable individual could hear in my position.

"...oh..."

I stop dead... And all I can can do is whisper one shaky word...

"...mirror..."

After a few minutes of assurances that " oh, it doesn't look bad," and outright refusals to retrieve a mirror, I finally wrestle one out of her death grip. She then frantically explains that she had gotten a little carried away and put a little too much "arch" in my left brow. I am shocked to find that my left brow looked like it was half an inch higher than my right. She then chooses that moment to announce, mid laugh, that she is going to let me walk around ... " looking suspicious". I blurt out that I look like I am slighty confused or bewildered. Eventually she stops laughing and wipes the tears from her eyes. And I endure another eternity of searing pain to achieve semitry on my face.

So if you see me on the street with a slightly surprised look on my face... It's the brows not me.

Thanks for the Vent Session...