5,000 people passed through the Dallas Bridal Show last weekend. Of those 5,000, about half got their eyebrows waxed for free by the European Wax Center. Of that half, only 1 had a life-changing experience. This is his story (he happens to be me).
When I was born, everyone in attendance stood mesmerized by my fully fledged set of eyebrows. Some took it as a sign of virility, others as a terrible omen. The latter prophecy prevailed and my rampant eyebrows have doomed me to embarrassment ever since. Passers by often warn me that there are two fuzzy caterpillars perched upon my brow. Either that or they mistake me for Drake. One might think that being confused with a rapper-slash-actor is not such a curse, especially when in the company of fervent female fans. It’s usually OK, but imagine if your closest friend asked you for your autograph, only to realize with disappointment that you are just another pleb. The ego pain isn’t worth whatever fleeting benefits may exist. My embarrassment reached its zenith this weekend at the Dallas Bridal Show and drove me to an extreme measure.
I was strolling through aisles of vendors without a care in the world when an enthused shriek, similar to that of a Bieber fan on helium, pierced the hubub: “OMGGGG IT’S DRAKEEEEEEE.” Of course it wasn’t Drake, only me with my outrageously prominent brows, but that did not stop the entire room from ceasing its activities and turning to stare. All eyes were on me and all brows were raised, except mine which hung as if to shield my face. Like a disgruntled celebrity on TMZ, I just wanted to be left alone. At last, through my hairy prison I glimpsed something that would liberate me from the unwanted attention, a sign that read: “FREE EYEBROW WAXING.” Considering that I possessed the most amply endowed eyebrows of all it might as well have read “SALVATION.” Like a starving bison placed before a lush green field, I rushed headlong into the throng of waxing experts and the rest, as they say, is history.
The moment that the hot wax touched my skin I was imbued with a fiery optimism for a smoother future. I yelped as the paper was torn from my face, not with pain (OK, maybe a little) but with unbridled anticipation. As two decades of hair growth was shed before my eyes, I was born once more. No longer was I a less successful visage of a Grammy award winning musician. No longer was I fated to always be the hairiest guy in the room. No longer was I cursed with the affliction of bushy brows. From that day on I have vowed to live unbrowed and proud. That is, until they grow back.