Day 90: Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

I think it's really freaky that Brooke Shields is trying to grow longer, fuller, darker lashes (and have you seen her dance?). Looks like eyelashes are her thing. The only time I find my eyelashes of any interest is when one has fallen on my cheek and I get to make a wish on it. Instead of wishing to look like Christy Turlington, I should probably wish that my eyebrows never again need tweezing. I don't give too much thought to how I look anymore -- I've been known to wear my pjs into the elementary school -- but even if my body is no longer shapely and groomed, my eyebrows damn well better be.

I know I've been really stressed out, too much to do, when I look in the mirror and find lots of little black stubby things growing between my lids and my brows. I recently bought a small lighted magnifying mirror which adheres to my bigger bathroom mirror; my eyebrows are looking much the better for it. I wonder if the suction cups would stick in the shower, because in order to shave my armpits I actually have to put on my reading glasses. They get all fogged up and then I can't see anything anyway.

Another thing about my eyebrows: I'm pretty sure a few of my eyebrow hairs have migrated to my chin. I used to have one whisker, now I have two. Each time I pluck my eyebrows I check for whiskers. They won't be there, they won't be there, they won't have been there for two months and then BAM! They're like an inch long. Is that right, or is it that I just needed to put on my reading glasses to see them? How long have I actually been walking around looking like the bearded lady at the circus? Did anyone notice?! Why didn't one of my so-called friends tell me?

Years ago, in Seventeen or Glamour or Mademoiselle, I don't remember which, an etiquette expert advised that you subtly pick at your own front teeth when your dining partner has spinach stuck between hers. The power of suggestion at its best. As a young woman I suppose I sort of bought in to that way of thinking, but now, with only ninety days left until the big 5-0, I say, "Uh uh, no way sister." You immediately tell her it's there, and while you're at it you suggest she buy a more supportive bra. Isn't that what friends are for? Isn't that what Modern Maturity would advise?