Turning the Big 2-No Flipping Way

After months away from the thread, my normally subdued inner beauty voice screamed out that I needed to get my eyebrows done. So I made the trek to Astoria, Jackson Heights (I'm still not fluent in MTA), where there are more threading salons than Starbucks, and when it's all said and done (yanked and smoothed?), you can treat yourself to a veggie samosa and mango lassi for two bucks.

I have a bittersweet love for eyebrow threading. It's not a quick fix like waxing, two little pulls of the strip and you're done...it's a hair by hair process that makes my eyes water and forces me into a fit of sneezes. But the result is weeks, and in my case almost two months, of lovely shaped brows. That's the sweet part.

The bitter? Having to deal with the threading lady's looks when you tell her you only want your eyebrows threaded. The exchange goes something like this:

Bushy Brows: I would like to have my eyebrows done.
Threading Lady: And your lip?
BB: No, just the brows.
TL: But your upper lip...
BB: Nope, brows only.
TL: Okay, just sit right here. (Turns to other threading lady, speaks in foreign language then motions to upper lip while shaking her head)

The second lady will come over and begin to prep your eyebrows. It's all very gentle and relaxing, like a mini facial. And then she'll say something like:

Threading Lady Two: Your eyebrows are very nice. The shape is good, I only need to clean them up a little.

Maybe you'll even relax a little thinking this time won't be so bad after all...and then BAM!

Threading Lady Two: But your upper lip looks like a man's.

Every flipping time.

So yesterday, I'm in the chair leaned back getting my eyebrows done and somewhere between the tears and the sneezes I start giggling at the ridiculousness of this situation. I have just paid a woman to pull out one hair at a time from my face as she throws verbal jabs my way.

I can't believe I have subjected myself to that sort of torture.

On my birthday, no less.

Hours later, when I met my husband for my birthday dinner of merguez sandwiches and ice cold Crush (YUM!), he asked what I had done for the day.

Me: I don't look any different?
Husband: No. Should you?

Bring on the creme brulee and Happy Birthday to me.

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