H2O, Erin Lee
You must have stared at your reflection for an hour before the choice was made. Your eyes followed up the slope of your nose to your eyebrows and the jet black hairs subtly connecting them. It was an easy decision to make if you didn’t think about it, but that was never really your style. So there you sat, contemplative and turning a pink, plastic disposable razor back and forth in your hand.
If you didn’t think hard, you were convinced. The hairs were ugly, so if you shaved them, problem solved. But not really though, because if you shaved them, everyone at school would know you did it just because Jason MacInerny made fun of you. And what if you cut yourself? Or shaved of part of your eyebrow and made it worse? Your mind was at war- raging turmoil over a few stray hairs in between your eyebrows, where apparently no hair is supposed to grow.
How many times did you stare at your face, wishing for beauty that seemed so unattainable, all because of six little eyebrow hairs? When you made the decision, everything started happening very fast. You made a grab for the shaving cream, only to reconsider a moment later and try hand soap instead. You would do a test first, and angle the razor just so, making sure to slice off the unwanted eyebrow hair delicately, without nicking the skin or a patch of your inner brow.
You were very careful the first time, and happy with the results. The space above the arch of your nose was smooth and hair-free, they way it should look, right? This became your weekly routine, shaving the barely there “unibrow” in secret, hoping your mother never noticed which, of course, she eventually did because that’s what mothers do. The initial embarrassment wore off quickly and soon after came the horror of the realization that your mother might make you stop shaving your eyebrow, leaving you victim to the unyielding dark brown hair.
That was all forgotten, though, when she looked at you with an unwavering gaze and said “Why the hell are you shaving your eyebrows?” When you told her why the hell you were shaving your eyebrows, you expected sympathy, maybe a hug, but instead, she laughed, and simply said, “Stop shaving your eyebrows off.” You tried to tell her that you were merely trimming around the edges, but she refused to hear it, saying you were beautiful the way you were, which, if you had to admit, was nice to hear.