Right before I fall asleep at night, I write the most amazing stories in my head. As sleep takes over, I tell myself, “I will write it all down in the morning.” Then, when morning comes, I can’t remember all the witty phrases and sentences I wanted to use to tell my story. I remember the topic, but it is just not the same. No matter how many naps I take during the day trying to re-create the memories, they just won’t come. Oh, the sacrifices I make for a story!
The last one I wrote in this semi-conscious state was really funny. It was about plucking my husband’s eyebrows. The whole story begins with a conversation I had with my sister-in-law over the Christmas holidays.
We girls had all gotten pedicures and something was said about more and more men getting manicures and pedicures these days. All the Bentley men in the room scoffed at that idea. This led into the conversation my sister-in-law and I had about how our husbands had not really changed despite all our valiant efforts throughout the years.
We joked about trying to make them more stylish and better mannered. We have failed. We joked about trying to make them better communicators. We have failed.
Now the men wanted to argue with this point, saying they are in fact better communicators now than when they were first married, it is just we women are never satisfied. They could be right about that, but we wouldn’t concede the point at that time.
Now, during my middle of the night version of this story, I had a great seque into my husband’s present-day grooming habits — which includes my plucking his eyebrows. I can’t remember it so you will just have to trust me that it was really funny.
For those of us who are bit older, we know full well that there comes a time when hair takes on a mind of its own. It begins to grow wild and in places it does not belong. I, of course, stay vigilant and pluck these mavericks as they appear.
My dear husband was of the impression that they should be left alone to express themselves wherever they wanted. It took a great deal of persuasion on
my part to even get near his eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. After much pledging, I was finally permitted to pluck a few hairs from his eyebrows that had absolutely gone wild.
You would have thought we were preparing to cut off his ear.
As I would approach his brows with the tweezers he would say, “wait, I am not ready.” After about three times of this “wait” game, I went in for the kill.
From the reaction my husband had to the plucking of a single rouge eyebrow, one can categorically conclude that he would never survive childbirth. To his credit, he did let me pluck the two or three more crazy hairs, but each pluck was accompanied by yelping, moaning and thrashing about. Each pluck was also accompanied by my uncontrolled laughter.
The last one I wrote in this semi-conscious state was really funny. It was about plucking my husband’s eyebrows. The whole story begins with a conversation I had with my sister-in-law over the Christmas holidays.
We girls had all gotten pedicures and something was said about more and more men getting manicures and pedicures these days. All the Bentley men in the room scoffed at that idea. This led into the conversation my sister-in-law and I had about how our husbands had not really changed despite all our valiant efforts throughout the years.
We joked about trying to make them more stylish and better mannered. We have failed. We joked about trying to make them better communicators. We have failed.
Now the men wanted to argue with this point, saying they are in fact better communicators now than when they were first married, it is just we women are never satisfied. They could be right about that, but we wouldn’t concede the point at that time.
Now, during my middle of the night version of this story, I had a great seque into my husband’s present-day grooming habits — which includes my plucking his eyebrows. I can’t remember it so you will just have to trust me that it was really funny.
For those of us who are bit older, we know full well that there comes a time when hair takes on a mind of its own. It begins to grow wild and in places it does not belong. I, of course, stay vigilant and pluck these mavericks as they appear.
My dear husband was of the impression that they should be left alone to express themselves wherever they wanted. It took a great deal of persuasion on
my part to even get near his eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. After much pledging, I was finally permitted to pluck a few hairs from his eyebrows that had absolutely gone wild.
You would have thought we were preparing to cut off his ear.
As I would approach his brows with the tweezers he would say, “wait, I am not ready.” After about three times of this “wait” game, I went in for the kill.
From the reaction my husband had to the plucking of a single rouge eyebrow, one can categorically conclude that he would never survive childbirth. To his credit, he did let me pluck the two or three more crazy hairs, but each pluck was accompanied by yelping, moaning and thrashing about. Each pluck was also accompanied by my uncontrolled laughter.
The first plucking occurred at least two years ago, and I am happy to report that today my husband will actually ask me to check his eyebrows. The scene in our bathroom during this grooming ritual is even funnier now than it was two years ago — because now my eyesight is not what it used to be. It actually does look like I might be preparing to cut his ear off. We turn on every light in the bathroom. I get a high power flashlight. I put on my magnifying eyeglasses.
I position Donald just right on the stool to maximize the light on his forehead and then I begin. The one thing that hasn’t changed in all this time is he is still a poor candidate for childbirth. The yelping, moaning, and thrashing are not as acute, but he still has to take a minute or two break between each pluck.
I shared the details of this ritual with a girlfriend one time and she said, “You know you don’t have to pluck the hairs you could just trim them.” I had never really thought about that but she was right. You would think between two college-educated adults, my husband and I could have figured that out by ourselves.
My husband has still not figured it out because I never shared that conversation with him. It is much more fun to pluck those babies out than to trim them.
Besides, now there is a sneaky little hair that thinks it can hide in his ear. But it is no match for me and my high powered flashlight.
After all these years, I have conceded the fight on the communication front and resigned myself to the fact that we will have the same, “you just don’t understand me fight” for the rest of our marriage.
On the grooming front, however, I have made great progress, and in some odd way, I think it has strengthened our marriage. You see, I feel much better about our communication problems after I have plucked his eyebrows.
Could it possibly have something to do with the amusement I get from all his yelping, moaning, and thrashing about? I think it could.
I position Donald just right on the stool to maximize the light on his forehead and then I begin. The one thing that hasn’t changed in all this time is he is still a poor candidate for childbirth. The yelping, moaning, and thrashing are not as acute, but he still has to take a minute or two break between each pluck.
I shared the details of this ritual with a girlfriend one time and she said, “You know you don’t have to pluck the hairs you could just trim them.” I had never really thought about that but she was right. You would think between two college-educated adults, my husband and I could have figured that out by ourselves.
My husband has still not figured it out because I never shared that conversation with him. It is much more fun to pluck those babies out than to trim them.
Besides, now there is a sneaky little hair that thinks it can hide in his ear. But it is no match for me and my high powered flashlight.
After all these years, I have conceded the fight on the communication front and resigned myself to the fact that we will have the same, “you just don’t understand me fight” for the rest of our marriage.
On the grooming front, however, I have made great progress, and in some odd way, I think it has strengthened our marriage. You see, I feel much better about our communication problems after I have plucked his eyebrows.
Could it possibly have something to do with the amusement I get from all his yelping, moaning, and thrashing about? I think it could.
