I’m pretty sure that my wife has turned me into a sasquatch.
I’ve written about her personal war against my eyebrows before, but they’re starting to take on a life of their own. Before I met my wife, they were fine. They did a good job of doing whatever it is that eyebrows are supposed to do, but they stayed within their assigned location, and everything was cool.
Now, however, they’re on a personal mission to make me a stunt double for the next Teen Wolf movie. The top is doing its best to merge with my hairline while I think the bottoms are trying to completely encircle my eyes. I’m convinced that this is an attempt to defend themselves against my wife’s constant plucking. They probably feel that in order to survive, they have to grow twice and fast and three times as thick.
This is probably where my wife would point out that I have also aged over a decade since I met her, and it’s just part of the aging process. To that, I say…good point.
When I’m home, she’ll usually just pin me down once a week and laugh while I cry. Now, however, she’s no longer here to keep them in check, so I’m left to do it myself. This is problematic because…well, it really hurts.
The process usually starts while I’m shaving in the morning, and I notice that the bushes on my forehead are starting to wave to me. I reluctantly open up the medicine cabinet to grab the tweezers. Then, I’ll get really close the the mirror, meditate for awhile, say a quick prayer, and go to work.
I’ll spend about 3 minutes just trying to grab the right hair. I’ll usually miss and accidentally pull out about 4 that I didn’t mean to. Eventually, I’ll actually grab the correct one, pluck it, wipe away my tears, and figure that’s good enough for the day.
I never thought that I would miss the days when my wife would perform the torture for me.