Part One- the Situation
My roommate comes rushing into the cramped stark white bathroom and then quickly burst out laughing as soon as she sees my face.
I frowned at her in my mirror which turns into a grimace when I am hit yet again with my face. I spin around and stare at her. “Stop laughing at me! This is serious!”
She straightens up from her bent over laughing position and looks at me seriously, hand on her chin in thought. “What the hell happened?”
I sigh. “I was trying to groom my eyebrows with my facial Nair.”
She stopped me with a hand. “Hold up, who Nairs their eyebrows!?”
“Lazy bamas who don’t have time to get to the salon. I look like Whoppi Goldberg. Less judgment more solution!”
She shakes her head, lips tight to avoid another burst of laughter.
I huffed and turned back to my dismal image. Hair still wound up tight in my jumbo curlers, covered in a hot pick terry cloth robe, with no make up. “I’m going to scare him off.”
She nods. “With a missing eyebrow, that’s a real possibility,” my roommate and soon to be ex friend states.
I glare at her again but I’m not sure how effective it is with only one eyebrow as emphasis.
“Okay, do a side part and were your hair over that eye!”
I respond with a blank stare in the mirror.
“Right, that probably won’t work with it being windy and all.” She places a hand over her left eye. “He’d be like 'hey, its’ windy', surprise [she lifts her hand then puts her hand down again]. And then he jumps back, not sure he saw what he though he saw, or didn’t see. But too late for him to inspect because the hair comes down again. Then nope, here comes the wind again and [hand lift from eye again] surprise!”
I cry out and shake. “I’m not going. Forget it.”
“Girl whatever, you can’t prolong this anymore. You have to meet this guy. We’ll simply use some pencil and powder and you’ll be as right as rain.”
I shake my head. “What does that saying even mean?”
She points to my covered toilet seat. “Sit. Let’s make a miracle.”
Several minutes later I stare back at a perfectly arched, yet artificial eyebrow. She touches up my remaining brow and I’m good to go.
Once dressed and made up, I feel I am Top Model ready.
“Look at you Ms. Tyra!” my roommate says, snapping her fingers.
I strike a model worthy pose.
“Is too sexy, too sexy!” she cries, coping the SNL Antonio Banderas skit as she shields her eyes.
“Then I’m ready to go.” I smile as I cat walk it to the front door of our apartment.
She follows me. “Good luck. Hope he doesn’t look like an Ewok!”
My hand pauses on the door knob and I turn to her in horror. “But I saw pictures! He’s cute.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Or the person whose pictures he used is cute.”
Scary thoughts run through my head and I slowly back away from the door as if a fire was burning away on the other side.
“You know, maybe I won’t go.”