eyebrows

Eyebrows are a funny little fuzzy thing, don't you think?  Mine have been at the forefront of my morning critique since I was 15 and my friend Mardell gave me a makeover, forever ridding me of bangs and taming my ferocious brows. 
My eyebrows needed that makeover. 
They were big.
They were bushy.
They ran the risk of merging with my eyelashes.

But then...
They were sculpted.
They were sassy.
They were pleasently plucked.

While I was in college in Pullman, a boy told me he recognized me from my stint in Walla Walla.  And by stint, I don't mean that I was doing time. I mean while I was at Walla Walla Community College.  He remembered my eyebrows. Specifically he remembered seeing my eyebrows arched over the steering wheel of my sisters Dukes of Hazard styled orange '77 Nova as I would pull out of the parking lot each day as he pulled in.  Needless to say, my conversation with the boy who had two first names and two last names that all mishmashed together was an awkward conversation at best.

As I flip through pictures of my children their brows jump out at me.  Freakish little arcs that draw my attention.   I started comparing theirs to their friends, to their cousins, to mine and their dad's.  Weird.  Aidan's are luciously thick, but not heavily arched, taking after me.  He even has a cute little mole like a little accent mark when he raises them in emphasis. I think my Noni-love was blessed with her fathers dramatic arch.  Maybe that is why she can give the 'tude like no other? I would love to pluck away at those suckers!  As a family, we have brows that are a furry force to be reckoned with.  I wonder odd things like will people use our face-frons as descriptors?  You know that Bachart family?  The ones with the dark, thick eyebrows that seem to walk into the room before they do?  Oh yeah, that family...I know them. 

Or maybe not.  They may be too distracted by the YAK we keep in the backyard to even remember our beautifully bountiful brows.  That is if I was crazy and fell for Tony's shrewed negotiating.  He offered a deal that would allow me to keep the lovely kitty if he could have a yak.  He was banking on me being of sound mind, little does he know that kitty cuteness brings me very close to crazy town.  Lucky for him, Margo broke out of her kennel because of a nasty case of turkey trots (or in her case, pig ear pig out poopies) and brought me right back to sanity.  Sanity where people are not out-numbered by pets, not actual sanity.  Bachart's are too far gone for that.