Eyebrows.

Funny things, eyebrows. I understand their general function but, until recently, I have never really had eyebrows.

Okay, they are there and always have been but they were mostly blonde and thin and would lay down where they needed to be. They were appropriately divided and required no maintenance. No tweezers. No wax. Nothing.

And then there’s the story of another set of eyebrows. Eyebrows thick and dark. Eyebrows that, in the last 2 years had a long, grey and then WHITE hair in the middle of the right eyebrow. Stephen’s eyebrow. Every time I cut his hair (too cheap to send him to Great Clips), I begged him to let me yank out the one random white hair while coming at him with a tweezers. And he would make a big stink about how, if I plucked it, several more would come to its funeral. It was still with him the day he died. He never did lose his eyebrows.

Guess what I found this morning when I was brushing my teeth.

That’s right. In the middle of my right eyebrow: one long, white eyebrow hair. Begging to be plucked.

I had a good laugh. And thought of our every 6 week ritual of me teasing him about his white eyebrow hair. I know it seems simple and maybe even nowhere near relavant. But to me, that one hair is like the Ouiji board reading my mind. It’s like saying a prayer and instantly having it answered. Like seeing a double rainbow or a 4 leaf clover.

He got me on this one. I’m laughing. He’s laughing. I just know it.

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