Late in the month, they resemble two male Kodiak bears fighting for a sexy she-bear suffering through long-term mittleschmerz.
Only two weeks earlier, they appeared as two short silver haired kittens slurping cream at opposite ends of a fine china bowl.
How is it possible that eyebrows grow so frickin’ fast? Before I continue, I must pause…I must choose my words carefully since I received a scathing email from a high school acquaintance.
Her (JS) words;
“I want to sucker punch a guy who shaves his pubic regions, plucks his eyebrows, carries a murse, highlights his hair, or cries at the drop of a hat.” I whole-heartedly agree, but…
Sorry, JS, but nature has forced my hand. If I do not bring my eyebrows under control, someone could get hurt. I honestly believe that the original barbed wire design was inspired by some steer driving cowpoke who had untamed eye cactus just like mine.
JS, I won’t pluck, honest. I have tweezers, but plucking is painful. And the anticipation of that scary moment after I grasp the hair and get the courage to yank is too much. My left eye is watering just thinking about it. And eyebrowlysis is out of the question. Isn’t that a form of torture ranked just above water boarding?
I wish I knew what caused the weird growth spurt. For the first 50 years of my life, they stayed the same length, then without warning grew wild with no sense of direction, form or color. For the next 15 years my barber has been able to trim them, although he did say that, recently, he had to upgrade to diamond tipped blades because of my special “condition.” Then at age 65 they really took off, like they had been possessed by some alien race of hair worshipers.
Then, early in the year 2013 came my tipping point; the Bee hummingbird incident.
Prior to one of our adventure vacations, I slacked off for a few weeks and forgot to trim them. During a strenuous hike through La Jungla de Jones, a rather unkempt park on Isla de la Jevetuda, a tropical island just southwest of Cuba, the tiny critter adopted my right eyebrow as its future home. I never saw it fly in. How could I, with dense forsythia bushes hanging over my glasses?
The bird’s diminutive size went unnoticed for a while. That was, until the commencement of the nest building process. After six days of furious construction, I noted that the right lens on my glasses seemed especially filthy, so much so that my wife volunteered to wash them. Some of you must know that my wife is damned smart. This time she really surprised me when upon returning the glasses she pointed out, with much concern, that they had been covered with Mellisuga helenae poop. Huh?
I stood there dumbfounded, when with intense seriousness in her voice, she demanded, “Sit down and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” I got scared. But, nowhere as scared as when I saw her walk back wearing a miner’s helmet, face shield and leather gloves up to her forearms. From a thick, fully loaded utility belt, she withdrew large flashlight. She flicked on the head mounted searchlight and the flashlight and said, “Tilt your head back, Sweetie, I’m goin’ in.”
Holding the powerful MagLite Pro LED 2D Flashlight in one hand and a small rake in the other, she searched deep inside my bristling brow. After extensive bushwacking and with a satisfying look on her face, she said, “Ah ha, just as I thought. I see the bird’s nest.” Then she backed away and removed her face shield.
“Get it outta there, Honey. Now I got the crawly creepies. It’s starting to smell funny, too.”
“Think about the mess if she lays eggs,” she suggested with a wily grin.
“Ewwww! Yank the nest outta there. Do it quick.” I began to swat at my brow, but my wife quickly stopped me.
“Don’t do that. Sorry Honey, I can’t do anything about it. It’s an endangered species. You’ll have to wait until she migrates south for the winter.” Shit, it was only early June.
Dammit. Figures she’s up on environmental law as well. I was screwed. For the next six months, I had to sleep in a tent outside until the five chicks left the nest. Do you know when hummingbirds fly, their wings move so fast that they buzz? They constantly buzzed around my right eye, occasionally landing on my glasses. Talk about dirty glasses! The babies left almost fully-grown in October. To my shock, mama bird never migrated and winters in Connecticut can be brutal. Drastic measures had to be taken.
How I rid myself of the tiny Zunzuncito, as the natives of Jevetuda call it, cannot be shared with the public. Too many laws were broken, some international. If the UN found out, there could be trouble and the taxidermist will forever go unnamed.
Since my eyebrows had been officially labeled as an ‘endangered species habitat,’ I had to wait another six months to officially trim the eyebrowian beasts. With EPA approval, of course. The only stipulation; the trimmed hairs had to be shipped to a landfill in Encarnación, Paraguay. Evidently, they are recovered and made into ceremonial fertility baskets.
By now, I probably looked freaky enough to scare the Elephant man. Leaving the house was not an option. I called my barber’s emergency line, but never heard back and barber house calls are too expensive. What could I do?
Surely, someone on the internet should know. So I took a close up picture of my undomesticated brows, posted it online with a one word message, “HELP.” Once I weeded out the spam, the eyebrow freaks and eHarmony requests, one “Friend” stood out.
That “Friend” turned out to be Panasonic. One amazing hair clipper showed up on my Facebook fan page. It was rechargeable. It was waterproof. It was adjustable. It was powerful! It was amazing! Two days later, I held the beauty in my hand and could not wait to get into the shower and try it out.
I examined this genius of a hair-cutting machine before I jumped in. I twisted the dial and set the tool to 8mm, the recommended perfect height for overgrown brows. First, I couldn’t help myself. I pulled off the blade guide and trimmed some low hanging nose hairs. Like butter, they flew off. My excitement flew off the charts.
I plopped the trimmer on the shower rack, pulled the curtain closed and blasted the hot spray. After my leisurely shave, I reached for the trimmer. Without my glasses, I fumbled for the on/off switch, but finally got it buzzing. This buzzing, I liked.
To show the ‘bushies’ who was boss, I wanted to go for a trimming record. With a few practice swipes through the air, I figured that I could do both in under one second. I took a deep breath, spread my feet for stability and readied my hand.
ZERO POINT EIGHT NINE SECONDS. Call Guinness.
I felt for my freshly groomed eyebrows, but something did not feel right. I ripped back the curtain and threw on my glasses. That’s when I saw the clipper’s guide still on the sink. I threw my towel to the floor and jumped out right on top. I stared into the mirror.
An eyebrowless freak stared back. It surprised me how much I looked like Rue Paul.