I’m not one of those people that bitch and moan every time I look in the mirror. I like my life – where I’ve been, where I am and where I’m going. The way I look tells a story. It says I’ve lived.
Yes, there are a few more wrinkles than I’d like. A few crop up every few months and the old ones keeps settling deeper and deeper into my face. I’ve become an avid user of eye creams when a few years ago I would have scoffed at spending $40 on those tiny bottles.
The grey hair unfortunately first reared its ugly head when I was 16 years old, so I’ve had plenty of time to get used to it. I would guess that I’m about 40% grey underneath all the hair dye, but whatever. I embrace my roots (most days).
But there is one thing that sends me over the edge. One (or two) teeny tiny things that make me go ballistic.
My Grey Eyebrow Hairs
Oh, how I hate them. They taunt me. I pluck them.
They tease me. I pluck them.
The damn things keep coming back. Over and over. It’s a vicious cycle.
I’m 35 years old. I am cool with getting older. I am NOT cool with grey eyebrows. I’m just not. I can’t dye those suckers, so they are going to age me before my time.
I swear I can hear them laughing at me.
Ba, ha, ha. Did you see her? She plucked us again. What an ignorant fool. She’ll never rid herself of us. Never. (Insert evil laugh here.)
I understand the process of getting older, but grey hair on body parts other than the head are just mean. Nose hairs? Unnecessary. Ear hair? Chin hair? Downright rude. The nether regions? Excuse me while I go cry now.
Curse you grey eyebrow hair!!! (said in the voice of Dr. Doofenshmirtz of Phineas and Ferb)