I decided to get nostalgic while I was home, so I looked through my yearbooks from my k-8 Catholic grade school. It's funny how there are 365 days in a year, and yet when digging through the past, most of the days just blur into generalities, leaving only a few distinct memories. I was thumbing through my 6th grade yearbook (2000-2001) and immediately I was hit with one of those ole distinct memories I haven't thought about for ages. However, this happening has affected me, I'd say, for a good chunk of my life. And what, you may ask, was this happening about? Well, my eyebrows. Those little buggers have caused me so much trouble through the years. I guess my bangs cover them now, so that's good, but back in the day I'd toil over them and end up making them too thin or too far apart. But I think my stupid preoccupation with eyebrows stemmed from this memory...
Mrs. Doyle's* classroom was arranged with desks aligned in neat rows. About 6 desks back and 5 across. I sat in the corner - the desk closest to the door. Billy* sat next to me and Michael* (my crush and "boyfriend" at the time. though you can't really have a boyfriend in 6th grade) sat behind me. It was the end of November and, being typical Chicago weather, it was pretty dreary outside. Once a month my friend's mom would come in as the Art Volunteer and teach the students about an artist. This week she was talking about Frida Kahlo. After the presentation, Billy turned to me and said, "You have a unibrow just like her. Ewwww!" I of course turned bright red and was really embarrassed and upset by what he said. It's one thing to say that all, but he had to say it in front of my semi boyfriend. I remember I wanted to cry or bolt for the door. Or do both. But then a voice from behind me said, "Leave her alone. Billy, you're just being mean. I think you have nice eyebrows." Michael - my knight in shining armor! Needless to say, I am excitedly awaiting Michael's proposal because clearly he's husband material. Just kidding. But actually I'm dead serious.
...So that day after school I went straight to my mom's makeup bag. And I got out those shiny tweezers. And I sat in front of my mirror in my bedroom and went to town on those suckers. BIG MISTAKE! An eleven year old should not be trusted with tweezers. I ended up taking a huge chunk out of my eyebrow. YIKES. My mom had to take me to a place to get them fixed (as much as they could be).
...Two weeks later my mom and I went downtown Chicago with my aunts and all my girl cousins to see "A Christmas Carol". Afterward we went to Water Tower Place to do some Christmas shopping. My Aunt Barb asked me what had happened to my eyebrow. I remember being really ashamed and embarrassed and I didn't want to tell her that I did it to myself. So I made up a stupid, non-believable story about how I'd been running outside and slipped on the ice and landed in some gravel and how the rocks cut my eyebrow and the hair came off. I think she could tell I was both lying and uncomfortable so she just said "Oh" and dropped the subject.
Anyway, I'd like to apologize to my eyebrows. Though I am not very fond of you, you didn't deserve the massacre you experienced that one gloomy, unforgettable, November afternoon. If anything, I should have taken my anger out on Billy and punched him in the stomach. Just kidding.
And mothers (or future mothers) be sure to tell your boys to never make fun of girls. Or anyone for that matter. It's amazing how one comment can set forth a chain of events. And mothers, be sure to tell your daughters to NEVER tweeze their eyebrows at a young age. If they are really unhappy with them, just take them to a professional.
Here's a picture of me (bottom center) with my friends at a tap recital a few months before the incident. Oh come on Billy - Frida Kahlo, really??? You JERK! Hahaha I actually think Billy is a nice kid. I was friends with him in school and I guess at the time he was just immature and trying to be funny. Oh well. Life goes on.
*Names have been changed. Which is kinda silly on my part since there is no way any of them read this. But whatever.