Browsing

It was 8 am and we were on the 101 headed to Santa Monica for Jackie’s follow-up visit three weeks after her hip replacement.

I had been congratulating myself for inadvertently scheduling the visit to coincide with Cesar Chavez Day when the rush hour traffic would surely be lighter. That bit of profundity was quashed as the freeway abruptly shut down at the Topanga exit.

Years of freeway driving tend to impart one with a sixth sense as to whether a freeway stoppage is only because of traffic volume or whether it bodes an air of finality when it refuses to move at all. The specter of a missed doctor appointment often adds to the excitement as you realize that you might as well sit back and suck it up.

Sitting there with little else to do, I began to fidget and wonder why my eyelash seemed to be bumping against the right lens of my glasses. Or maybe, I thought, it was my eyebrow that was the cause of the annoyance.  I tried unsuccessfully to smooth the brow above my eye and pluck at what might be a dislodged eyelash that had taken up residence in the usually vacant space between my eye and the glasses.

I reminisced while the traffic remained glued in place and recalled that my eyebrow trimming had become more frequent in the last few years along with the accelerated appearance of other hair in my ears and nose. Curiously, the disappearance of hair on other parts of my body, legs and arms, seemed to conflict with the lush vegetation that required continuous attention above my eyes and in my ears.

Having failed to find and disposed of the errant hair, I looked over at Jackie and interrupted her immersion into the emails that had flooded her iPhone overnight. “Can you take a peek at my right eye and see if you can find a hair floating in its general vicinity? I think it might be an eyelash.”

She leaned over, squinted and dutifully examined the area. “There’s no lash. But what I do see is an abundance of disorganized hairs of various lengths that claim to be an eyebrow. Whoever’s been trimming your brow should be ashamed of himself.”

I apologized for my slovenliness, accepted her conclusion, and went back to watching the traffic remain motionless while my dashboard clock continued to move at the speed of light toward the time of our doctor appointment. Visions of remaining motionless in our allotted freeway spot for the rest of the morning danced through my head as I nervously reviewed various futile solutions for what would surely soon become a demanding bladder.

As usual, my fears were unfounded. After what seemed like enough elapsed time to melt the Mendenhall glacier, traffic began to move, we avoided further catastrophes, and arrived at the doctor’s office fifteen minutes early. Of course, he was 30 minutes late.

Following a successful doctor visit that allayed Jackie’s fear of permanent disability, we checked into the Ambrose Hotel, dusted ourselves off and found an accommodating employee who graciously opened the complimentary happy-hour bar 30 minutes early.

We sat outside with our wine and thought about the day. As I was entering a state of bliss, Jackie moved closer to me, put her hand on my arm, looked into my eyes and said “Ya know, you should get some eyebrow threading.”

I wondered if my brow had perhaps fallen off.

She spritely continued, “I just checked my iPhone and there are a bunch of places walking distance from the hotel. I bet I can call them now and make an appointment for you tomorrow morning. It’s really cool and you’re gonna love it. You will be so handsome.”

When Jackie accepts an assignment, you might as well just get out of her way and let it happen. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was her zeal. Anyway, I just grunted, she made the call, locked down a 10 am appointment and sat back contentedly.

Eyebrow threading is centuries old and has increased in popularity of late, displacing traditional tweezing and waxing while spawning a horde of threading salons that rival Starbucks.

I Googled it and found that there’s not much threading in threading. In fact, the hair removal tool in threading in nothing more than thread held between a technician’s hands (and in some cases, their teeth as well) in a twisted configuration. As the technician moves their hands, spaces open between those twists and then tighten again, grabbing and holding onto hair, and pulling it free, root and all. Ouch.

Despite my inability to stand any pain above a 2 on the Richter Scale, we awoke the next morning and walked the half mile to the corner of 26^th and Arizona where we found Namita’s Eyebrow Threading Salon. I was surprised to find a salon devoted to eyebrow threading with six reclining chairs ready for action.

I later found out that you can get the hair on your arms, legs and face threaded. Other unmentionables as well. Double ouch.

Escorted by Namita herself, I plopped myself down in a comfy recliner and awaited my fate. Namita promised not to hurt me too much. Little did she know that I need a Percodan just to get me through the morning.

She came at me with a vengeance. The cotton thread looking like a battle axe, she began plucking. It felt and sounded like a rasp being drawn across my brow. The little rasps were the hairs being yanked from where they had peacefully resided for many years. Rasp, rasp, rasp.

I was glad I only had two eyes.

In the background I heard Jackie laughing with another technician. Never one to give up a spa treatment opportunity, she was having a similar threading experience. A true soldier, she is impervious to any pain that accompanies a beautification.

Namita completed my transformation and presented me with a mirror. Amazing. Damn right. I am more handsome.

Where’s the nearest Botox salon?