“Hey…do you grow corn in those brows?”
I hunched over my lunch tray and feigned extraordinary interest in my rectangular slice of pizza and giant chocolate chip cookie. I dutifully mopped up the grease that shone from both of their slick surfaces with a ridiculously thin napkin. Anything to appear preoccupied enough not to respond to my tormentor.
But this particular jeer was differnent. It was not directed at my lavender Minnetonka mocassins or my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans with the swan insignia on the right butt cheek. I was used to being ridiculed for my fashion choices that had been all the rage in Minnesota but didn’t quite cut it here in suburban Chicagoland.
However.
Something about brows?
Perhaps it wasn’t directed at me.
So I shot a furtive glance across the cafeteria table. And I instantly regretted doing so. Robbie Catalano was sneering at me. I felt the familiar heat creep up my neck and color my face. He was making fun of me. Again.
And I didn’t get it.
“What?” I asked.
“Your eyebrows. Can you grow corn in them?”
“Huh?”
Robbie flicked his bangs out of his eyes and snickered. ”Ever heard of TWEEZERS? Minnes000000-duh?”
Comprehension washed over me. My parents had, time and again, told me that I had inherited The Derby Brows from my mother’s side of the family. I had always worn this title…and my thick, dark eyebrows…with a certain degree of identity-forming pride.
Until this moment.
My pride shattered into a zillion little pieces and was replaced by resentment.
That resentment propelled me through the rest of that afternoon and pedaled me home from junior high faster than I had ever ridden before.
I burst through the front door and past my mother’s bewildered expression. I took the steps two by two, veered sharply to the right, entered the master bathroom, and locked the door behind me.
I rummaged through Mom’s vanity drawers, ignoring her insistent knocking on the door and muffled inquiries as to whether I was all right.
I would be all right after I found her blasted tweezers and tamed The Derby Brows.
But I could find no tweezers. Wiping tears from the corners of my eyes with my shirt sleeve, I sat on the edge of the tub and looked dejectedly around the bathroom…until my gaze settled upon the razor that lay inches away from me in its little plastic holster.
With a trembling hand, I picked it up, rose, and looked in the mirror.
I centered that razor just below my brows, and with one smooth stroke, drew it upwards.
Nothing happened.
Because I had positioned the wrong side of the razor against my face. Sighing, I flipped it around, repeated the smooth stroke…and…
sssccccrrrrraaaaatch.
My caterpillar-like eyebrows were now half their original length, with a two-inch chasm of extra-pale skin spanning the distance between them.
……………………………………………………………………………..
That was some thirty years ago. And over the weekend, when Twin A watched me touching up my brows before bedtime and asked about the tweezers, I gave her a quick lesson on her own Derby Brows before placing the tweezers in her hand and closing her fingers around them.
“Here.” I told her. ”They’re yours. Put these in a safe place.”
And she did.
Inspired by a prompt from
I never got teased for my brows (though I’m now quite suspicious that I’m guilty of overtweezing), but it took some mean kid’s ugly comments about my legs to get me to start shaving when I was 13. I had never given them a moment’s thought before then. Someone said, “Tell a girl she’s pretty and she’ll remember it for a minute. Tell a girl she’s ugly and she’ll remember it the rest of her life.” Truth.
Oh, there’s absolute truth in that quote, Sarah. I still find it’s true for me to this day, unfortunately.
Girl, I can SO relate. I’m so sorry you got teased at school…I hated school for that very reason. But look at what a great mom you are, making sure your daughter knows how to take care of herself. Good for you…and what a wonderfully written story!
Thank you. *blush*
I have mutant hairs that grow out of my eyebrows – there is always a good 3″ or 4″ hair trying to poke out. In college, I woke up, once, to my then girlfriend (soon to be fiancee, then ex-fiancee, and now just a great big mistake) attacking my eyebrows with her tweezers.
Ha! My sister in-law used to do the same thing to my brother. At least you guys weren’t made fun of, right?
I have tweezers near every mirror in my house and in every purse I own. Eyebrows and chin hairs be damned! 7th grade was when a family friend made fun of me for my armpit hair that I hadn’t even noticed yet. Wasn’t puberty fun?!?!
Thankfully we only have to do it once.
Seriously. A second time would be likely to kill me.
Oh my goodness! Kids can be soo cruel. I remember when I had decided my eyebrows were too thick and had a girlfriend tweeze them for me after school. When I came home, my mom took one look at me and told me that I was never again to have anyone tweeze my eyebrows for me. I can’t even remember what they looked like, but judging from my mother’s response I am assuming I was NOT a hottie potottie.
Hottie Potottie…love it! Heard of Cutie Patootie, but not that. Must be a southern thang?
oh my word – your story brought back a new ugh memory! Why are kids so mean?!
Because they’re unsure of themselves. What I couldn’t understand then, I see clear as day now with my own Cherubs and their classmates.
Twin A has a gorgeous example of all things good in her momma. Lucky girl.
Oh and….mean people suck.
Aww…blush. Thanks, girlfriend. Let’s go beat up some mean people.
UGH!!! Seventh graders can be so cruel! You poor girl. You’re a good mama for passing down the tweezers before she gets made fun of.
xoxo
Better for her to learn it now of her own volition, right?
I have weird brows that barely grow, so I have to be super careful where I pluck, but I was teased about chicken legs for years, however. And now I blog. I’m sure there’s a connection there somewhere.
I felt the connection, hon. *fist bump*
I shared my brow-lovin’ pic on my post about the 7th grade. I told myself I was resisting the temptation to jump on the beauty and makeup bandwagon which I would have to continue down the rest of my life, but in honesty I was scared. Although no brow job I did could ever be as bad as the English teacher who drew hers on to look like Hedwig and The Angry Inch. Thank goodness hair grows back, right? Found your blog from Mama Kat’s linkup!
Ooooh…will check it out tonight after I tuck The Cherubs in! Thanks for stopping by, Kristen!
Not the razor! I overtweezed when I was younger, so I have some sparse spots now. I wish I’d known…
Yes. The razor. And NOTHING sparsens {is that a word? is now} these brows of mine. I swear they grew in thicker after that little episode. #DerbyBrows
Ouch! The razor! I had bushy eyebrows, but I learned to ignore them. Plus, my mother would have killed me for using her razor!
Yeah, Tina…Mom wasn’t too thrilled about that.
I have never plucked my brows but my daughter has plucked mine a few times but I am lucky in that I don’t have hairy brows………
I’ve grown to appreciate them again. I think of them like potter’s clay…can shape them into whatever I want them to be.
Those little comments have a way of sticking with us, don’t they? That mortification we feel when we are young is so clearly etched in our memories along with that feeling that whatever it is needs to be “fixed.” It’s so hard to be young.
It really is, Kim. And I see so much of myself in my daughter now that she’s eleven-going-on-sixteen.
Seventh grade. I’d rather have my hand slammed in the door than remember it.
Eyebrows were always difficult for me. I’m sending my girls to get theirs waxed.
Oh I just cringed through this whole post! My Grandpa once raved about how I had inherited his eyebrows and I did the same as you…went directly to the bathroom and took care of that. No thanks gramps! But a razor?…oh man, you could have done some real damage right there!
I have very thick dark eyebrows as well. The last time I went to get them threaded, the woman asked me how long it had been since I’d done them. It had been a month. “No, no,” she said. “It’s been at least three months!” She sure made me feel good! It’s terrible when people make fun of others for parts of their bodies. Your brows are your brows! And I’m sure you look great no matter the size!