Star Of The Shop
Confession time…
I occasionally get my eyebrows threaded.
Yup, that’s right. Deal with it, manly men. Congrats on your ability to chew glass and spit out nails. I realize that you can eat fire and fart out handcrafted wooden furniture. Look, I get that you shave with a machete. And do all of it while sipping from a can of beer…
But the face I look at in the mirror each day?
It could easily grow a massive, thick unibrow.
So, yeah, I get this taken care of every couple months.
And allow me be even more honest. I actually like going to the eyebrow place. No, wait, let me correct that. I secretly love walking in there. Why? Because it feels damn good to take care of myself. Fine, sue me. Shouldn’t we take pride in respecting oursel—
—ok, sorry, that’s actually not the reason I love walking in there.
Here’s the real truth…
The old lady who runs the place apparently thinks I’m the studliest guy around. Quite literally. I mean, she doesn’t even call me by name. Not even sure she remembers my name at this point. She just refers to me as, “Handsome.”
“Hello handsome!”
“Good to see you, handsome!”
“How are you, handsome?!”
And so on.
Not gonna lie. It feels pretty great to hear. Especially as an aging nerd with sore hamstrings and a bunch of gray in my beard. But, man, when I walk in there? It’s like Handsomefest ’97.
Cut to last week:
I take a look down at the ol’ calendar.
Boom, it’s eyebrow time.
I walk through those doors. Strutting in there as usual. Almost gliding. Even the hamstring feels great on eyebrow day. I look around at all the old ladies in their chairs. Wait, are they checking me out too? Sure seems that way. Does everyone in here think I’m a stud?
Hey, maybe that’s just called good taste.
I grab a seat and wait my turn. Flashing my megawatt smile at all the friendly faces. Is this what it feels like to be a movie star? Nothing but adoration. Fans all around.
Welcome to Stud City.
Population: me.
I pick up a magazine as another guy walks in. Please note that I would never make fun of his appearance. That’s not who I am. But let’s just say he looks like a total mess. People would probably describe him as, “unfortunate looking.”
Sorry, bro.
You can’t all be movie stars.
The eyebrow lady takes notice of his entrance. Poor guy. But then she turns excitedly to him and says:
“Hello handsome!”
Wait, what?
Hold on a minute.
And then it dawns on me…
As my cockiness melts into panic.
While my hamstring tightens up like a rock…
Apparently, this is just the word she uses for EVERY GUY WHO WALKS IN THE DOOR. To her, all of us are “handsome.”
I sure wish I could tell you what happened next.
But I blacked out for the next 3 days.
So, to summarize, I no longer take part in the act of grooming.
I now chew glass and fart out handcrafted coffee tables.
Oh, and if you ever run into me anywhere?
Please ignore my eyebrows.
