“Vampires are all the rage, nowadays… so don’t bother removing us, we’re trendy.”
“We claim this wasteland in the name of Caesar and for all of the Roman Empire. We will grow many prosperous fields here… look we’ve already started.”
“Man! How’d you get to be so tall??? Every time I get even close to that height, I get yanked out by the root and have to start all over again!”
“I am the hair that blends into the night. Do not search for me, for I cannot be seen in your sad excuse for bathroom lighting, nay… only during the most inopportune time will I make my appearance known. And you will be sorry, oh yes! You. Will. Be. Sorry.”
“You have such beautiful eyes. Can I stab one?”
“Listen, Halloween is right around the corner. Do you really want to take options like Bert and that Frida chick off the table?”
“Ah! Come on! Leave me! I give you so much more personality…you know it’s true.”
“Getting uprooted like this every week or so is really starting to wear on my nerves. You keep this up much longer and I’ll turn gray on you, missy.”
“I’m not a chicken for gosh sakes! Stop plucking me!”
“Delores? Who are you talking to in there?” A voice called through the closed bathroom door jolting Delores out of her daydream.
“Nothing mom! Be out in a minute!” Delores hollered back at her mother before turning back to the mirror. Tweezers at the ready, she scanned for any stragglers and content with her tweezing job, checked her makeup one last time before unlocking the bathroom door and flicking off the lights.
The Not So Fantastic Reality:
The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:
ONE: Ever wake up one morning and POW! what was two perfectly groomed brows (emphasis on TWO) has somehow, during the night, morphed into one rather unruly unibrow?
Call it laziness, call it a faulty beauty regiment, but there are times when I just fail to groom those weird tufts of hair above both my eyes. Being a natural blonde, I can kind of get away with it, I guess…for a time anyway. After hopping out of the shower this evening, I’m going about my usual post-shower routine when I happen to glance into the mirror and almost gasped at the state of my eyebrows. “Someone get me a weedwacker!” I almost yelled. I shaped them as best I could, given the poor evening lighting, but I can almost guarantee that there will be one big ugly hair starting back at me tomorrow as I wash my hands or check my hair (on my head) in the Ladies Room. The story above is how I imagine a teenaged me would converse with those unruliest of hairs… or more accurately, how they would converse with me.
Love & Squirrels.