Feminine Wiles

Over the weekend I went to get my eyebrows did.

I only started doing this a year ago, and I have to say I’m kind of hooked. My reasons for not doing it ranged from “I think it might hurt” to “What if they accidentally take the entire thing off?” to “Doesn’t it cost like $60?”

Then last June I went, kind of as a birthday present to myself, on the same day I got bangs. It was a whole girly-day-out thing.

And now I’m kind of hooked.

I have to admit, while at first I couldn’t stop admiring my new eyebrows in all the mirrors, I was a little annoyed when they started growing back in after a couple weeks. “Am I going to have to shell out $12 – plus tip – twice a month?” I demanded (of God, I guess). But I soon learned that I can do my own upkeep for at least a few more weeks after that, and I settled nicely into an every-6-weeks schedule.

What I like about it is that it’s reminiscent of a spa day, without actually breaking the bank or having to spend all day at a spa. I feel feminine doing it, it’s this nice thing I can treat myself to, and I do really like the way they look.

But oh, the pain.

I guess I repress it pretty well, because I keep going back, eagerly even. And yet, lying on that paper-covered table, ankles crossed nonchalantly, eyes closed, waiting for that hot wax, I have to ask myself…I’m paying someone to hurt me like this??

It’s really just the ripping across the bottom part of the eyebrow – closer to the thin, harmless eyelid skin – that kills me. I’m pretty good at not flinching. It has got to be frustrating to the esthetician to have someone come in, and then spend the entire time wincing and jerking away.

But when she finishes – with far less soothing ointment than I would put on, if I were doing this myself – and hands me the mirror, I’m always a little embarrassed when I finally open my eyes and they’re totally full of unwanted, involuntary tears. It’s not my fault! It’s a reflex! I really do enjoy being here!

Then I leave a nice big tip so she knows it’s not personal.