I can’t think of anything that makes me feel more attractive than a set of beautifully-shaped, well-groomed eyebrows. 

Let’s back up.  When I first moved to Las Vegas, I had a horrid eyebrow experience.  First, the girl asked me when I was due.  Haven’t people learned that you don’t ask women that even if they are wearing billowy sundresses that might possibly resemble maternity wear?  Then, she decided that I would look best with skinny, pornstar eyebrows that are strangely off-kilter.  For approximately the last year I have been growing them out.  Other people grow their hair out, I grow my eyebrows out.  Go figure.  In an attempt to help the process along, I enlisted my aesthetician’s assistance.  We’ve finally got both eyebrows almost totally grown-out and at the same level.  No more cocking my head at strange angles in photographs in a vain attempt to keep from looking like a Picasso portrait gone wrong. 

I wonder if y’all have any idea what a difference it makes.  Really, a perfect eyebrow turns me into a total snob.  I wake up in the morning to find that I’ve turned into one of those girls who stops to look in every reflectable surface from mirrors to coffee tables.  While I’m gazing upon my brow, I purr “hello, gorgeous!  What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”  Ordinarily this behaviour would irritate me but really… I do have fantastic eyebrows.

Hello!  This was your obnoxiously vain update of the week!  I hope you’ll be able to find it in your hearts to forgive me. 

I now return you to your hopefully-more-frequently-scheduled updates.

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