Last time I posted anything to The Guardian, this blog received 300 more readers than usual. As they say, it pays to advertise.
I was reading something rather upbeat this evening submitted to a column entitled, What I'm Really Thinking. The person submitted her thoughts anonymously because, I guess, she's afraid of being labelled hairy. I figure that's her moustache below. You can read this entry here. It's brief; she really is ashamed. Must be a young woman:
So I'm thinking, time to send something of interest and import to The Guardian. And what better way to help the Brits to confront hairiness but to give them an update on my eyebrows. This will be especially compelling since I am channelling my inner Yulia Tymoshenko and the media is all about the Ukraine these days.
My eyebrows have a mind of their own. They are not going to slavishly follow the outline provided for them. No. The are going to merrily wander all over my forehead. Some look to be trying to repatriate themselves with my hairline although I doubt, even in their youthful heyday, they were ever that chummy. But you never know. People did stop me in the street and ask, "What's wrong with your eyebrows?" And people would say to me, "I think they can fix that these days."
Best thing to happen, one woman at a pharmacy counter grabbed an eyebrow pencil, licked it and then started drawing in new brows.
I was horrified.
Best thing to happen, one woman at a pharmacy counter grabbed an eyebrow pencil, licked it and then started drawing in new brows.
I was horrified.
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| Horrify yourselves by clicking on this photo to really see how abysmal these brows are. I refuse to call them my brows. They are just there, not really part of me at all. |
