Don't Touch My Eyebrows.
Black women complain about people touching their hair without permission. I have a slightly different issue. People reach out and touch - my eyebrows. “Are they real?” “Do they come off?” They’re just, well, my eyebrows. Blonde (and now a little gray), they appear not to have been tweezed. That’s because they haven’t. The pain of a thousand plucks is not for me. Maybe one here and there but thin eyebrows arched into surprise and submission you will never see. A little trim with cuticle scissors keeps them from getting out of control. My brows are partially hidden these days behind thick black eyeglass frames, now required due to endless hours on the computer. Years ago, optometrists would point to a selection of three plastic frames including one that looked like Sophia’s from the Golden Girls. That might be fine if you were 80 but when you’re in the fourth grade? No thanks. When I wore contact lenses, my eyebrows were more accessible for curious fingers. To read more about my eyebrows...
