Laminating your eyebrows doesn’t lead to happiness
I am quite deep into my midlife crisis now. So last weekend I decided it was a good idea to book in to have my eyebrows laminated and my eyelashes lifted because, y’know, it would obviously make me instantly groomed and happy and able to move through life with grace and beauty. This would be fine if I had ropey eyebrows to begin with, but my eyebrows were the sort of eyebrows that people dream of in their wildest, eyebrow-related dreams. Thick, never need nudging into place, wake up looking incredible. I may not have had much in my life, but my eyebrows were holding all this shit together.
So now I have ropey eyebrows. Don’t get me wrong. I loved how they looked post-lamination, but nobody told me that now even my eyebrows have a list of demands.
They now expect:
- Brushing morning and evening with a wee little brush the place I got them done gave me;
- Oiling with either coconut oil or a posh serum or avocado oil or some such on a daily basis;
- That I sleep on my back (I am a front sleeper);
- That I sing songs of their beautiful eyebrow ancestors to them every freakin’ morning or they won’t behave.
I went from almost no maintenance (beyond a fortnightly threading) to a slave to my eyebrows. Even if I do all the above, and a wee dance of appeasement, it is a 50/50 chance now that they will behave on any given day.
I fear this may be manifestation gone wrong. I said somewhere on a Vision Board or shouted into a mermaid’s woo-woo that I wanted to be more groomed. I meant looking effortlessly chic with zero effort, but I didn’t phrase it that way. I am certainly more groomed now. The eyebrows won’t let me leave the house of a morning without the Ritual of the Nine Strokes. I fear at some stage, salmon sperm may get involved. It always seems to these days.
