From the mouths of babes

I'm feeling much better today. Leeches and blood-letting really DO work! Who knew?

After having spent most of the weekend in a prone position on the couch and after using a million hundred tissues, I believe the allergies have gone off to afflict someone else. They've only left the sneezing portion of their program. And I DO love a good sneeze, so I'm thinking I came out the winner on this one. Ha-HA!

We had our friend and her daughter over for breakfast on Sunday. The daughter, who we will refer to as M, is one of the reasons that Marc and I will ever venture down the path of parenthood. She has made us less afraid of what it might be like to bring a Small Person into the world and we realize that it might actually be amusing to raise a child in such a way that they tell their therapist, later, how much My Parents Fucked Me Up. I mean, we have to have SOME fun, what with all of the sleep deprivation parenthood seems to include.

Anyhoo, M loves to be read to, and some six books in, she looked curiously at my face and said "What's wrong with your eyebrows?" and placed her small finger on my left brow bone. This type of question means one of two things...either that I have forgotten to darken the hair of my eyebrows, or that I've colored them in too darkly, which makes me look as though I'm a distant relative of Groucho Marx. Either way, it's not pretty.

She continued "They look sort of funny...they are not the same." At the age of four, M is terribly precocious, but I could tell she was struggling for the correct description as to what was going on north of my eyeballs... I went into the bathroom to inspect.

The left one had been completely rubbed off, giving me the lopsided appearance of a frat boy who'd had his eyebrow shaved while passed out after a night of too many keg stands. An elegant woman throwing a brunch at her house, I was not. I sighed and rubbed the right one off as well, figuring that if I couldn't have elegance, I would at least have symmetry.

First world problem, I know.

I came back out, ready to resume reading, but M had moved on and wanted to go upstairs to have her hair braided. So off we went to my bathroom; she observed my face in the mirror and took note that both of my eyebrows were now missing. "What's wrong with your face, Jen?" Where to begin, right? I told her that I had rubbed the other eyebrow off, so as not to look funny to which she said "Well, you look funnier NOW. I'm glad mine don't do that."

Indeed. It's a good thing she's made of sugar plums and the Baby Jesus, or else I might have wished a pox on her, but she's right. I wish mine didn't do that either.