Monday, March 1, 2010

Don't Shoot 'Til You See the Whites...Above Their Eyes?

Holy crap! Just in time for my maiden blog post, my world has shifted on its axis, my equilibrium has been shattered, and I’m in full deny-it-and-it-doesn’t-exist mode. What could be of such import, of such gravity, could create such a kerfuffle in Dirty Old Broad Land? I just discovered a white hair in one of my eyebrows. And before you get all attitudinal with my seemingly self-absorbed answer, I never promised you a socially significant answer. (Frankly, if you crave a blog that’s going to serve up anything other than heaping helpings of forty-something attitude, peppered with the occasional profanity, move along; there’s nothing for you in DOBLand.)

As for the little white interloper, when I saw it waving gleefully at me, my mind flashed to memories of my Great-Grandpa Mensch, with his ginormous, white, caterpillar-fuzzy eyebrows. And don’t even ask me about what was growing out of his ears – pardon me while I throw a hissy fit. I think I’ve just suffered a head-on collision with my genetic destiny, and the airbag did not deploy.

I feel like ranting and raving at the universe: THIS IS NOT FAIR! I mean, is it not bad enough that I’ve tolerated white hairs populating my southern equatorial region – absolutely a pluck-free zone, thankyouverymuch – for the past few years? The only good news with them was that I could hide the little bastards from the general public, with only my darling hubby getting a viewing, and hey, he’ll gladly grin & bear it if he wants me to grin & bare it on a regular basis. But now they’ve gone from pubic to public in just a few short years – white hairs in the eyebrows!?? What the hell!

Of course I plucked that little sucker ASAP, which takes care of the problem for now, but I fear it’s only a temporary solution that will remain effective only if these white hairs continue to be merely an occasional occurrence (or should that be an eruption? an infestation? an amalgamation?). But this hoary happening does not bode well for the future. Imagine it – 10, 12, 15 and counting of the little buggers! And unless they’re evenly distributed throughout the brow, a plucking-only regimen means I could end up with bald spots, which methinks would be worse than just leaving the white hairs, from a purely esthetic perspective. If it gets to that point, should I just leave them alone and “age with dignity” (yeah, I got your dignity right here, sweetie), or should I start investigating other methods – the only other method I can think of being to dye my eyebrows?

Now there’s a great idea – chemicals applied to the eyebrows by little ol’ me, the woman who stubbornly refuses to trade her glasses for contacts because she can’t stand the idea of having a finger closerthanthis to her eyeball. Yep, it’s definitely a recipe for tragedy – it’s all fun & games ‘til somebody loses an eye!!! Of course, there is the alternative that involves me handing over my hard-earned (hardly there) money to a professional esthetician; I suppose not blinding myself would be worth a little time and moola, and my problem would be solved.

But speaking as one who overanalyzes everything, here’s the rub: is this really a problem, or is it just a vanity issue? In all other respects, my eyebrows are satisfactorily performing their functions: wiggling suggestively, frowning, quirking ala Mr. Spock when he opined, “Fascinating.” I can’t think of much else they’re supposed to do. Am I too vain if it bothers me that I could end up with strips of salt & pepper fuzz doing the wiggling, frowning and Spocking?
Certainly, I do other things to my eyebrows in the name of good grooming. For instance, I don’t consider it sheer vanity to pluck my eyebrows or have them waxed now & again to keep them looking shapely and sleek; in fact, given that I tend to be a little hirsute (damn that Mensch gene!), it seems like a necessity, unless I want to cultivate a “squirrels camping out on my forehead” look. (Though that is a look that could help me land a spot in a GEICO ad, or maybe a small walk-on role as a Klingon hottie in another Star Trek retread.)

OK, OK, maybe I should just tap the brakes here – in the grand scheme of things, perhaps worrying about these itty-bitty white hairs doesn’t mean I’m leaping into the narcissistic abyss (though an entire blog entry on the subject would suggest I’m teetering on the edge), and I’ll be able to take yet another step down the path to maturity with equanimity and acceptance. But mark my words: I can guarantee that the day this flippin’ Mensch gene rears its ugly head in the form of white hairs growing out of my ears or, God forbid, my nose (shudder), all bets are off. Equanimity? Ain’t gonna happen – more like a burst of belligerence leading to a plethora of profanity (I love that word, plethora), culminating in a screaming blue mimi fit worthy of a Dirty Old Broad. Cover your ears and pass the popcorn – it’ll be one hell of a show.

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