Earlier today, Shenanigan swung by and invited me and the herd of children that I control out to the mall for a little "Get me out of this freaking house" therapy.
I don't get to see Shenanigan all that often, so I was all like, "Woo, bring it. Let's roll! All you little nerds get in the car and let's blow this popsicle stand!"
We took the kids to the play area to let them run wild and get the ants out of their pants.
After some little snot hit Shenanigan's kid with a truck, we decided to check out the pet store and get the kids a snack.
In a moment of stupidity, I expressed the desire to get my eyebrows waxed. Something I do every, oh, I don't know, three months.
I do thank my stars that I am a redhead and you cannot see my eyebrows anyway because can you imagine what would be going on if I had hair the color of Elle's? Yheti-brow. That's what.
Shenanigan graciously offered to man the kiddos while I took off downstairs to the salon, praising Shenanigan for being so helpful.
As I slid into the chair, I made sure that I told the gal not to stray too far from the brow line.
Waxer: Oh, it ok-ay. I do it foh you-u.
Me: Okay, because last time I looked like half my eyebrows went missing in some horrid wax-accident.
Waxer: Heh Heh Heh foh YOU!
Me: [to self] Crap. This is going to end poorly.
Here is a before. See the slight arch? Doesn't look too bad, right?
Oh. Please ignore the weirdo child on my lap.
THIS IS WHAT SHE DID TO MY FACE.
I look mad. All the time now! Not just when I am yelling.
Seriously. LOOK AT MY RIGHT EYEBROW. MY right. Which is your left.
It is straight.
The look on my face is nothing like it was when I first saw what that lady did to my eyebrow. I just refuse to post photos of me on the internet where I look like a braying donkey.
(Fish lips are acceptable)
Can you see above my eyebrow? The part where there is SUPPOSED TO BE HAIR? It's skin. And when I wrinkle my eyebrows (which I do every other second of the day) it looks like someone plastered a naked caterpillar on my forehead.
See? Shiny and white. Dead bug face. THAT IS WHAT THEY'LL CALL ME.
After freaking out about this and making the 9 take 100 photos of my face, I decided to fix my eyebrow myself. Luckily, Elle came home and helped me take pictures.
Okay, a slight arch, perfect shade, amiright?
Kind of a sharpie look, perfect shade of eyeliner. Sharp arch. I think it looks nice.
And here they are together:
Yeah? It looks great, doesn't it.
I'm not entirely sure what this look is for.
Pretty much, Elle just kept snapping photos and I kept changing my expression.
I think the climax of this idiocy came when I tried to scrub the eyeliner off. Freshly waxed skin is tender. No matter how funny you think something is going to be, feeling like you're scrubbing your eye with a porcupine is not worth it.
I cannot WAIT until Shenanigan needs a favor.