autohairography: chapter thirteen.

Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!

[image credit: berta pfirsich]

2003.
for the love of hair.

My junior year of university, I fell in love. It was a short-lived romance that quickly evolved into a long-distance. Which was perfect for me, because it meant I didn’t have to shave my legs as often.

Which meant that while my leg hair was growing, my head hair was also. I had always dreamt of having long hair, flowy and fabulous. Mine wasn’t quite flowy or fabulous, but it grew quite long and I was quite proud.

Which meant that when my leg hair was growing long and my head hair was growing long, my eyebrows were growing long. And out of control.

I had never waxed, tweezed or done anything remotely similar in the eyebrow region. I learned later in life that my lack of grooming was a dreadful mistake and that the equivalent of two hairy caterpillars were moving about my face in all of my childhood pictures.

Still, I was a bit frightened by the process. What if it hurt? What if they take too much off? What if one is bigger than the other? What if there is a crazy ugly skin condition nesting underneath the furrow that is my brow?

I commissioned a trust friend to take a stab at it first. I wanted someone who I could be completely honest with. Someone that would take it slow and be gentle. Someone who understood English.

That friend was Mia Calgarez. She prepped quickly and had a steadfast hand. I remember the pain. Dear Lord, the pain.

I remember the cold tweezers and the scent of baby powder upon my brow, shortly after the process was complete.

I remember the horrified look on my face when she said she may have taken off a bit too much.

And I remember the face staring back at me when I looked into the mirror. The face of my own, barer than usual, with two thin strands of spaghetti above my eyes.