Finally had the courage to bushhog my eyebrows with my beard trimmer.

Kristina used to chase me around the house with scissors. Back when we were lovers and married. I was skeered she would accidentally pierce my eyeballs. It’s not why we broke up and got divorced, tho. 

Alicia, my current hairperson at a funky, post-hipster arty working class barbershop somewhere along the crest of Phinney Ridge, would trim them sometimes. With scissors. With shiny, silvery scissors. I tipped her more, too.

Didn’t want to look like a spooky old grump with barbed wire eyebrows with wild snowwhite hairs lancing out in all directions like mad cat whiskers. Somehow these bouncy thorns would twang up and away as they sprouted from my eyebrows. Yuppers, skippers, my eyebrows were WILD! You could lance a boil on a dead fish with one of my scary eyebrows!  Continue reading →