Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Help! Has Anyone Seen My Brows?

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Jul• 21•19

Don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful

The other day, I was minding my own business when I looked into the mirror and saw something very disturbing. I almost screamed. My eyebrows had grown so bushy that they looked like The Lion King reboot could have been filmed up there. If you listened closely enough, you could hear lions and tigers singing the “Circle of Life.” No kidding. I wouldn’t lie to you unless it was about my weight or my credit score.

At that point, I would have called the situation dire. It was definitely above me. There was nothing I could do to fix it on my own. Even if I had broken out a couple of chainsaws and set brush fires to my eyebrows, it wouldn’t have helped a bit. Clearly, I needed to bring out the big guns and seek professional help. Some matters you shouldn’t take into your own hands. A wise Oprah once said, “Thou must know thy own limitations.”

Immediately, I visited my team of plastic surgeons for a consultation. Unfortunately, they were all busy because one of the Kardashians had scheduled a tune-up, oil change, and other general body maintenance. The surgeons refused to see me unless I was willing to pay $4.99 to have the Kardashians bumped. When I came up a dollar short, I offered them the leftovers from a six-piece chicken nugget pack I’d had earlier that day. It didn’t work. They wished me luck and sent me on my way. Artificial tears welled up in my eyes as I exited the parking lot.

On my way home, I happened to see a glowing sign off in the distance that stopped me dead in my tracks. There it was. Calling out to me from a storefront in neon lights: Walmart’s House of Eyebrow Waxing and Pickles. Making things even better, this location took food stamps. My innards leapt with a joy that can only be described as being the equivalent of waking up to learn that Beyoncé released a secret album, movie, and line of classic automobiles in the middle of the night. I was overjoyed.

I swerved into the parking lot with a level of determination that I hadn’t experienced since that one time I opted to not super-size my milkshake. I mean, sometimes a large is more than enough. Why go bigger if you’re already having problems squeezing into your Spanx? Accordingly, I threw caution to the wind and attempted to hand my eyebrows over to the professionals. Before you even ask, clearly, they were professionals because they had a store. Since this was an emergency, I didn’t allow their one-star Yelp rating to sway me. Haters are going to hate.

I walked in with a sense of pride and determination that is rarely seen in me. Immediately, the hostess asked if she could help me. It was as if she couldn’t hear my eyebrows crying out to her for healing. She gasped as I brought my brows closer. She said a few words under her breath and looked at me with disgust. I understood the feeling. I was disgusted as well.

Her reluctance to take me on as a client reminded me of being in middle school when no one wanted me to have lunch at their table. It was there that I learned to eat standing up, a skill that would come in handy later in life during several of my stints in prison. And before you even ask, I did learn to sleep standing up in that middle school cafeteria as well. Unfortunately, not all the skills I learned back then were helpful in the big house. Some of the inmates simply could not appreciate my ability to knit pull-over sweaters out of two sheets of toilet paper.

My brows and I sized up the hostess and wondered what it would take for her to consider me worthy of assistance. Maybe she was hungry. Maybe she wanted a glass of wine. Maybe she needed me to beg. Perhaps that was the expectation. So, I got on my knees and lunged for her leg. That did it. She looked down on me and said, “Child, I will help you with the mess you have made.”

Hand in hand, the hostess led me to the area where my eyebrows would face the judge and the jury. It was clear that me and my brows were walking into a room that we would not all be walking out of intact. There would be pain. There would be yelling. There would be casualties. It was like an episode of Game of Thrones.

As I sat down in the chair, I explained what I wanted. I needed my eyebrows cleaned up a little. I didn’t want them arched. Even though it’s 2019, I didn’t want them to look super manicured. I just wanted them to be neat and masculine, so they could match those key moments when I add a little bass to my voice for authority at the grocery store. My eyebrows certainly won’t command the same level of respect if you can’t even see them when I frown about the cost of parsley. Regardless, my waxer had plans of her own.

Four hours later, after my brows had been tucked, plucked, and a few other things, I was handed a mirror so that I could assess the damage. Fortunately, due to that one acting class I had with Jack Nicholson back in the 70s, I was able to hide my initial shock and horror. I pretended to love my new eye curtains. However, as soon as the eyebrow thief turned her back, I fell to the floor and rolled around. I tried to scoop up the remains of my eyebrows. Unfortunately, nothing could be salvaged.

Snatched!!!!

As I continued to look into the mirror, my new eyebrows looked back at me. There wasn’t much left. Instead, there was nothing but skin where hair used to be. The cast of The Lion King had been evicted. No matter how hard I listened, I could no longer hear animals singing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” or “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.” It was absolutely heartbreaking.

Making matters a bit worse was the response from friends and family. Of course, my momma was judgemental. That was a given. However, several of my friends laughed at my perfectly arched eyebrows until they had to be taken to a local hospital by ambulance. Well, if I’m being honest, I consider these people to be former friends. Sure, they haven’t exactly died, but because my brows and I can’t bear to look at those people until my hairs have grown back, my remaining eyebrow pride simply can’t take another hit. I won’t allow it. And although you probably can’t tell by my hairless frown, I mean it!

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: http://www.humormike.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/michael.rochelle1
Instagram: humor_mike_
Twitter: @mikeyllo

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