As I got out of the shower today and put in my contacts, I realized that my eyebrows were looking a bit unkempt. Being female, a teenage female, no less, I realized that this was thoroughly unacceptable and decided to remedy the situation.
Now, I usually have ready-shaped wax strips made especially for the eyebrows. When I looked in the box this morning, however, I found myself without these necessary instruments.
The next course of action was to raid my parents’ bathroom in the hope that my mother might have something of use. What I found was a box of “cold wax strips.” I wondered if these were appropriate for facial use, as eyebrow hair is much less resistant to removal than, say, leg hair. I decided to take my chances.
If I only knew then what I know now…
I took the Strips of Pain and Death into my bathroom and trimmed them to the appropriate shape and applied, first to the top of my eyebrow, and whipped the strip back off, delighted that it was working. I then applied the strip to the bottom of my eyebrow, above my eyelid in order to get an arched shape. I went to whip the strip off, and…
THE PAIN!! THE PAIN!!, my nerves shrieked, sounding like Hervé Villechaize, had he been interrogated during the Spanish Inquisition.
The wax strips were ancient, and much too sticky for use on such a delicate area. I had to ssssllllooooowwwwwllllyyyyy peel the strip off my face, leaving much wax behind on my skin and letting loose a torrent of endorphins within my tortured brain.
I looked in horror at my eye, which was now surrounded by red and irritated skin, with a layer of wax covering my browbone and eyebrow. Not knowing what else to do, I quickly washed my face with hot water and soap only to discover that that made the wax spread. My eye was now stuck open, with my eyelashes stuck to my eyelid.
The next idea I had was to simply rub the wax off, so I began rubbing at my eye, hoping to collect the wax in a little ball so I could easily peel it off. No go. The rubbing served only to further irritate my skin.
Then I spotted the bottle of rubbing alcohol on my bathroom counter. I knew that rubbing alcohol has no place around mucous membranes or the eyes. But I was desparate.
I splashed some on a folded-up Kleenex and scrubbed away, taking care not to drip any alcohol in my eye. I was pleased to find that the wax was slowly coming off, but then the alcohol fumes reached my eye.
Once again, my tortured nerves entranced me with their Hervé impersonation, while I wondered why they just couldn’t let dead midgets lie.
Now, I sit here with one and a half eyebrows, red skin, and there’s still some wax on my browbone. I’ve been rubbing at it all day, though, so it’s almost all gone.
Damn eyebrows.
