Eyebrows.

I have none.  That’s not true.  I have eyebrows, but no one can see them.  I spend a lot of time outside during the summers and my eyebrows just disappear.  I was oblivious to this problem until the summer of 2010.

It all starts like this.  One summer day, a gubernatorial candidate was within 10 minutes from my work.  She was going to be there from 11-2.  I decided last minute that I should go hear what she had to say during my lunch break.  Well, this was a particularly busy day at work.  My boss needed to retrieve an email from 2004 that had the contact information of his grandfather’s third cousin that sold a house in 1981 and he needed to know the color that the house was painted and I had been tasked to go find it.  Actually, that is not exactly what happened but it was something tedious and ridiculous like that.  I kept pushing back the time I absolutely had to leave to go see this candidate.  Finally, the point had come to forget it all and just go.

OF COURSE!!  D-MN TRAFFIC!!  Of all days.  So what should have been a 10 minute drive was a 45 minute drive through hell.  I can’t even remember what caused the traffic in the middle of the day, but that’s not the point.  The point is, I finally arrived to meet the candidate with less than 10 minutes to spare before she left.  Crapolla, there’s still a line of people who are waiting to talk with her.  Don’t they all know the drama and trouble I went through to get here?!?!  COME ON!!

Major flashback to first grade.  Mommy Dearest was ALWAYS late.  Even as a 6 year old, I knew that my mother was time-management-challenged.  So, it was my very first day of real school.  First grade, yo!  Major League stuff!  I’m the bomb and must get to school so I can impress everyone with my smartness.  Besides I was rocking my pigtails while wearing a really cute dress.  We finally arrive to school and what?!  How could this be?  My entire first grade class is already lined-up against the wall to walk to class.  Mommy Dearest grabs my arm and yanks me to get in line.  But what the hell is this?!?!?  Why am I in the BACK of the line?  I’m freaking fantastic.  This is MY first day of school!  I DESERVE TO BE IN THE FRONT OF THE LINE!!  Do you not see this freaking adorable dress I’m wearing?!  This is MY first day of first grade.  I don’t care about all you other creepers trying to cut me in line.  I don’t like any of you.

My first day of school S-U-C-K-E-D wind!

Oh yeah, the teacher (her name was Mrs. Minion.  NO LIE.) asked us to spell our entire, full, name and give her our birthdays – on THE first day of school.  If we could do both, we’d get 2, not 1, but 2 Dum-Dums.  Everyone knows that Dum-Dums ROCK!  I couldn’t spell my first name because no one even called me by that name so I only heard it 3 times before + I wasn’t even sure it was a part of my real name.  Yes, I knew the month and day in which I was born but gosh darn-it woman, how could I possibly know the frickin’ year?!?!?!?  I’m coming to school for YOU to help me figure this sh-t out.  GEEZ.  I got no flippin’ Dum-Dums.  Maybe that’s why I love them so much now?

What was I talking about?  Really, I have no clue.  [SIPPING WINE.]  Oh yeah . . . waiting in line in to meet the candidate, the end of the line where I, me, I shouldn’t have to wait.

Finally, she [the candidate] was gracious enough to meet me even though it was obvious I just squeezed in at the end of her event.  I’m sure she was thinking that she could appease me with just the photo of us together and not have to bother in political banter.  Of course I wanted proof that I did my politicking, so a picture was in order, but I was ready to debate.  Literally, as the camera clicked, her aids swooped her away before I could ask her the tough questions like, “Do you prefer Chardonnay or Merlot? No? Pinot Noir?”  Also, I really wanted to ask her if she’d invite me over for wine if she wins and moves into the Governor’s mansion.  We’d have a blast, I promise.  But no.  No conversation of any depth.  I didn’t even get to ask about her favorite color.

Again, what was my point?  Oh yeah, eyebrows.

The little snot aid that took our picture would only allow one picture.  OH COME ON!  Everyone knows you need a “just in case” picture.  I was able to convince him and told him that I thought the candidate blinked.  SUCKER.  So I was limited in my choice of “best of” 2 pictures.  They both should have been deleted, but after serious internal debate, I posted the least offensive one to Facebook.  I wasn’t so much concerned about how I looked as I was for showing proof that I’m cool for going to a political event.  Maybe I should have been more concerned with the previous.  A few days later, I glanced at the picture again and was completely dumbfounded.  Something is off.  Really, really off.  It doesn’t look natural.  At this time I was in the midst of working to lose weight.  Of course, I wanted to look thinner, but that was not it.  My hair’s not all that crazy.  My make-up is okay.  What is so .  .  .

HOLY BANANAS UP A MONKEY’S BUTT!!!!  WHERE THE FREAK are my eyebrows?  I’m a white Whoopi Goldberg!!  Oh. My. Gosh.  Can I edit this photo and paint eyebrows?  This is so crazy!  Where did they go?

Eyebrows? What eyebrows?

Eyebrows? What eyebrows?

Now, it’s 3 years later and still no closer to the answer.  Every summer, my eyebrows seem to blend into my forehead even more.  Why is it only my eyebrows that get bleached when I’m in the sun?  I really wish my leg hairs would bleach like this because then I wouldn’t have to shave.  That’d be very cool.

I’m not really a make up person, but I’ve started applying mascara almost everyday to my eyebrows.  It’s a public service, really.

I was reminded of this picture as I inspected my eyebrows today.  They appear even blonder than yesterday.  Wait.  What the heck-a-doodle is this?!?!?!  A gray hair?!  In my eyebrow?  Can your eyebrows turn gray?  Name a woman you know with gray eyebrows.  Yeah, I thought so.  I can’t think of one either.  You know who I think of?  Steve Martin.  Yes, Steve.  What is there for me to look forward to?  Mrs. Steve Martin?  Please, oh please.  Someone get me another glass of wine.

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