Every time she walked into a salon and asked for her arms or upper lips to be waxed, they’d always ask, “what about eyebrows?” And she’d always revert by saying, “No, not the eyebrows.”
She has always been possessive about her eyebrows. She believed that was the only thing she didn’t want anyone to touch, ever.
She was told that girls are supposed to get waxed and make themselves look pretty by succumbing to the torture of getting their hair pulled out. Unfortunately, this had been embedded in her mind, deeply. But for some reason, she felt that she doesn’t want to get her eyebrows shaped.
She loved her eyebrows; they had a lovely arch. She was protective of them.
She always wondered the point behind first shaping the eyebrows and plucking the strays, when in the end, they had to be filled with a pencil to make them look ‘thick and full’.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
She didn’t care what people said and thought of her eyebrows because she loved them the way they were. She reckoned that they accentuated her eyes a tad more.
They’re the only thing that made her retain her individuality.
Who was she?
She was the girl with joint eyebrows.
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