I need to pluck my eyebrows.
Seriously. Especially now that my boyfriend’s 2 continents away and 8 hours behind and I can no longer expect him to clean up my brows with his black (and supposedly machosexual) tweezers (😀), I have to find thirty minutes to do the deed.
I’m quite lucky to be born with non-messy brows. They don’t need any massive construction work and could survive with minimal maintenance. Their major problem is that they curve down slightly in their natural state, giving me a perpetually sad/wawa/meek/nice expression, depending on the situation. I blame my brows for single-handedly upholding my good-girl standing for the past twenty-three years.
And since I’m tired of “Why are you sad, Stephanie?” comments from everyone during moments when I thought I was wearing my businesslike poker look, I’m going to scrounge the house for my Swiss knife. It has tweezers, silly.