I’m not exactly someone who’s followed the pack- catching on never, embarrassingly later, or so far before that I’m over it by the time it’s cool.

So, yeah, I miss things, and every so often I’m quite shocked to discover what it is that I missed. This story is in reference to a good, long close up look I’ve had at a few good friends lately.

Fred approaches the mirror. He thinks “Damn, I’m a strikingly, amazingly hot stud and user of adjectives.” But then, he furrows his brows in disappointment: his thick, bushy brows that some might say frame his deep, dark, fall into and sprain your ankle eyes. He stares at those brows and a bit of water begins to caress one eye and then the other. “I hate myself,” he states to his complexion, his eyebrows staring back, “And it’s all your fault.”

He reaches for a weapon that will scar his face with stubble for life and put a bandaid on his ego. The tweasers remove the offending bit of hair whose only crime was being where God damn well put it and meant for it to be.

“Much better. Now they are super thin like the ones in this here underwear ad. But, something’s missing…” his pointy-thin, dotted-line eyebrows stare back in earnest like a . . . ., “They’re thin… too thin… too weak.”

His self esteem plummets and the tweezers fall to the bathroom’s tile floor, bouncing with a resonating clamor that echoes between Fred’s ears in a mocking cacophony.

It is then that he sees Jane’s head shaking in the mirror, arms crossed and breath sighing, “It’s okay, Fred,” She approaches with what looks like a pencil and tilts his head down towards her, “There,” she states moments later after drawing upon his well-sculpted face.

And his brows are great, sexy, pencil thin and strong…

…until tomorrow when the dots appear around his new brows, growing in defiance.

“You could always get surgery for that,” suggests Jane nodding to herself.

A black cat on the sofa stares for a moment and then goes back to sleep, thinking how humans are such stupid, silly pets, but he loves them anyways.