My Daughter’s Eyebrows

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"Don't ever tweeze your eyebrows." 

I was sitting at the nearby ice cream parlor enjoying my Cookies and Cream sundae when a family member pointed out my bushy eyebrows.  

"Don't ever pluck those. They are just like Brooke Shields'"

At ten years old, I didn't know much about Brooke Shields. I remembered seeing her on the cover of some gossip magazine the last time I went to the grocery store. She was pretty, but I couldn't recall if her eyebrows were like mine.

"Sure, I won't pluck them," I said. Who would want to forcibly pull hair out anyway, I thought. Ouch.

Fast forward a few years when I was visiting a different family member. She pulled me aside and told me that my eyebrows were a bit unruly. As I stood across from her, I took note of her perfectly sculpted brows. She told me that we had to do something about this. She grabbed the phone and starting dialing. 

Before I knew it, we were in the car driving to her favorite salon. When we arrived the woman at the desk quickly ushered me to a chair in the back. From behind I heard, "Oh, so she's the one you were telling us about?"  I worried that maybe my brows had started taking over my face, and finally my Aunt was the only one brave enough to tell me. I hoped the beautician would get there quick before I turned into Sasquatch.

I will never forget how I felt as the hot wax was brushed along my brow line. I was a mere teenager, yet, I felt like a woman. I thought I was being rebellious. My mother didn't even know I was there. What would she think? I did promise I never would do this. I looked like Brooke Shields, right? No, I guess my eyebrows looked hers, and the last time I saw a picture, she looked like she had hers waxed too.

When it was done, I swear I thought I looked different. It was a new me. Yes, a new self conscious, worried about her eyebrows, me.

I have never been good at keeping up with tweezing. I always tried to keep up my appointments for waxing, but sometimes, I would let it go. Once I went threading, I never waxed again.  

I don't get to the salon as often as I wish. When my eyebrows get out of hand, I begin feeling like teenage Sasquatch again. I can't look anyone in the eyes until I sculpt those brows. No one will notice if I push my glasses really far up the bridge of my nose.

Now that I have teenagers, who have inherited my brows, I worry they may have inherited my self-consciousness as well. I did catch one daughter shaving her brows with a razor. That didn't turn out quite the way she had planned. I gifted her a tweezer and she's been happy since then.

I try to watch what I say, but yesterday, I did tell one of my daughters I was looking like Sasquatch. Then, I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and noticed my eyebrows staring right back at me.

"Sweetie, did I ever tell you that you look like Brooke Shields?





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