I survived

My younger sister's wedding. I will put some pics up later. Let me assure you, I looked fabulous. My date looked even more fabulous. Nobody (especially not me) bemoaned my spinsterhood with that beautiful (and smart! stylish! confident! fun!) man-candy on my arm.

The wedding was very simple, sweet, and quick. The reception was nice, as well, with good people, food, and entertainment.

The only things that did not survive the wedding, however, were, unfortunately, my eyebrows. The night before, I got a mani/pedi. In a moment of clairvoyance about the unlikelihood that I would be able to manage a major eyebrow-plucking-session before the event, I asked the girl (I'm in a salon, after all), for an eyebrow wax.

Count this as one of the hugest mistakes of my adult life.

I wish the picture did it justice.

Okay, so, going in, I'm like, "I really like thick eyebrows, so not too thin... Just really natural, please." And, somehow, she translated that to "Go ahead and wax the top."

Umm... guess what? You shouldn't really wax or pluck the top, aside from the random stray clean-up. Had I seen you were about to do that before I felt the warm wax being applied, I would have, in slow motion, with arms flailing, shouted, "Nooooooooo...."

So, my left eyebrow is almost okay. It's really about right, aside from minimal damage to the top. Maybe slightly too thin at the thick end. My right eyebrow, however, is a skinny stripe. No change in width all the way across. Not enough to even work with with my magical eyebow pencil. I got butchered.

I guess I'm back to plucking. Which pains me, because I always end up crying. But not as much as I want to cry when I see my freaky eyebrows in the mirror right now. At least there's no emotion behind it when I cry about plucking.