Solidarity

I started plucking my eyebrows when I was 13, at my mom's suggestion. Not a lot of plucking, just excising some strays here and there. I was duly cautioned against overdoing it. My mom is a lady of refined practicality, and I do appreciate that.

I was 18 before someone told me, though, that maybe I ought to pluck strays growing in between my eyebrows. You know, in the unibrow space. Honestly, I never noticed they were there. Maybe because I'm naturally somewhat of a low-maintenance girl, or maybe because I never wore my glasses while completing my personal toilette. Who was that someone? Auntie Chris. When was it? Just before I headed home from BYU at Christmastime to see the boy who is now Dr. G for the first time in two and a half years. He had been on a mission in Korea. I already knew I wanted to marry him. So thanks to Auntie Chris for not letting me make that crucial first impression with unibrow.

A short time ago (although it seems ever more distant) I had a job whose requirements included being prepared to go on television to speak for the university on any given day with little to no advance notice. So I started getting my hair done by real professionals (as opposed to dye by the local drugstore and cuts by Great Clips) as well as -- rrrrip! -- my eyebrows. I sort of enjoyed the quiet aesthetician's room at the local posh-ish salon. (You only get so posh in my town ... the ritziest place still charged only $25-30 for a cut last time I went there.) The price for an eyebrow wax and cleanup was not unreasonable for a professional working woman, only $15. To me, it seemed worth it because after 20 years or so, I had come to hate plucking.

Then Z came on the scene. My little Portuguese-Chicana princess! Not so much at first, but within a couple of months her Frida came shining through. I know exactly where it came from. I saw her birthfather in court when he was there last year trying to say that now that he was out of prison he could take care of her (the judge wasn't sympathetic). His black brows would put Harry Monster to shame.

So she was less than a year old - she was born in November and I think it was the following July - when people started asking me when I was going to get her eyebrows done.

No kidding!

She was a BABY!

And I said so. And I still say so. And last August when I gave notice at my job, I also quit plucking. Me and Z have some eye.brows. Si se puede, princess.