“I don’t know, Julie. My first two classes were really strange. It was like that dream you have where everyone is looking and laughing at you and you don’t know why? Yeah. Well, that was what my morning was like. I swear! No, no listen, it wasn’t my imagination, I swear to God. The entire morning I kept catching people staring at me out of the corner of my eye but when I turned to look they instantly looked the other way. And I swear I heard giggling as soon as I looked away,” Monica said into the phone, hoping her best friend might help her figure out what was going on. For the life of her, Monica couldn’t imagine what people were acting so bizarrely about, but she was in a hurry to find out- after all, no one likes being laughed at.
Walking briskly across campus towards her dorm, Monica pulled up the hood on her hoodie in a flimsy attempt to shield herself from further scrutiny until she could discover what was inciting such a reaction from her classmates. Julie, on the other end of the line, was saying something but Monica had missed most of her friends’ reply. “Sorry Julie, what was that last part? Must have walked through a dead zone or something,” Monica fibbed.
“I was just saying… that it’s probably nothing. You probably drank too much at the party last night and are just feeling off, or something,” Julie repeated. They had had quite the time last night, maybe Julie was right? Monica was almost ready to believe this completely plausible excuse until she caught the eye of the guy walking towards her. As he neared, his face suddenly flashed an expression of surprise and then stifled mirth as he quickly tried to plaster a look of nonchalance over his initial reaction upon meeting Monica’s eyes.
Something was definitely not right. And it was not a few too many Solo cups of crappy keg beer.
“Ok, this is crazy. I’m almost to my room, I’ll call you back, Julie,” Monica said to her friend before tossing the phone in her backpack and racing up the stairs to her room in Dextler Hall.
Unlocking her door, Monica flung her backpack on her bed and all but ran into the bathroom she shared with the adjoining suite. Locking both doors, Monica closed her eyes, and flicked on the florescent lights of the bathroom. “Here goes nothing,” she said to her reflection. Opening her eyes, Monica stared in disbelief at her reflection- and then burst into laughter.
“Well serves me right for rolling out of bed and rushing to class without so much as a glance at my appearance,” Monica chuckled as she leaned in closer to the mirror. Staring back at her were her usual features, all completely unaltered except for one- her eyebrows. Rather than their usual chestnut hairs manicured nicely into a delicate swoop above each eye, Monica’s eyebrows more closely resembled Groucho Marx’s bushy brows, having been painted on the night before with a large black Sharpie.
“Note to self- in the future, do NOT get so wasted that you forget you went to the annual Sig Ep Halloween party as Oscar the Grouch,” she laughed again before she started to scrub at her caterpillaresque brows.
The Not So Fantastic Reality:
The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:
ONE: Have you ever met or encountered someone in your daily life who has altered their appearance in such a way that you just want to pull them aside and, after a nice hug, tell them they look ridiculous? I encountered such a person today while at lunch with some girlfriends. Bellying up to place my order at a local eatery, I looked down from the posted menu above the registers and came face to face with a pretty cashier- and, what I can only assume were her two pet caterpillars, sweetly perched where her eyebrows should be. Now this individual could have been afflicted with an unfortunate illness that prevented her from possessing hair above her eyes, but I’m more inclined to believe she performed this ‘alteration’ herself. So after plucking every last one of her eyebrow hairs off of her face, this poor gal then had the brilliant idea to shellac two thick crescents, like sad mud-stained rainbows, above her peepers and swooping down towards her nose. You could tell she thought this was a very appealing look as she highlighted her handiwork with sparkling eye shadow that all but forced your attention to her painted-on brows. Call me old fashioned, but I am of the opinion that the Big Guy upstairs kinda knew what He was doing when throwing us together, and with a few minor exceptions (sorry God, shaving my legs is a must… from time to time at least) I think we would do well to just leave things be. But that’s just an old thirty-year-old spouting off on these young eyebrow-less whippersnappers…
Love & Squirrels.