I hate my eyebrows. I've never liked them. I got stuck with my dad's eyebrows thanks to genetics. If I was a boy,t hey wouldn't be so bad but being a chick, they make shaping them near impossible. They started out fine but where an arch should begin, they suddenly flattened out to the equivalent of a small pasture. Through my teen years and early 20s, I plucked them so thin and small since I drew them in most of the time that it didn't matter. Little did I know that it caused them to not fully grow in anymore.
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| Seriously, I would kill for eyebrows that looked like this. |
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For years, I only trusted my mother to fix them. It gave my mild anxiety attacks if I even thought of someone else trying to clean them up and shape them. Yes, thanks to Mom for feeding more into brittle psyche. But having to trek almost 45 minutes (if there's no traffic) just to get them done forced me to find other outlets. The first was a little old Colombian woman that did them for a few years before she disappeared from the little salon. No one would tell me where she went. I hope she didn't get deported. Then, I found a Japanese chick named Maggie who did killer brows and an even better set of gel nails. Then she moved back to California. (Bet you thought I was going to say Japan!) So, now I have learned to rely on myself. After all the years of abuse I have given to that small region of my face, they've pretty much shaped themselves and all I have to do it is pluck out a few stray hairs. Still, I wish they had that perfect arch in them and framed my face like a 50s starlet. Aaahhh, to dream....
