While visiting home, I casually told my mom I had my eyebrows threaded for $7 at a little place in Greenwich Village. The following is the conversation that ensued, as accurate as I could remember mere minutes after its conclusion.
MOM: Your eyebrows…I don't like them. They look fixed. They look like
someone painted them on.
ZACK: That's fine. There's nothing I can do about it now. I won't go back there anymore.
MOM: No, what? 7 dollars? That's amazing. I love them. They're great.
ZACK: No, you don't. You just said you hated them.
MOM: I -- I do. I just think they need to look more natural.
ZACK: What do you mean by that? The whole reason I get my eyebrows done is because when I let them go, they form a unibrow.
MOM: I know. Your father's eyebrows look awful.
ZACK: So I have to get them done.
MOM: I know. They look fixed. They need to be more natural.
ZACK: So what am I supposed to do?
MOM: I don't know.
ZACK: What do you mean by "more natural?"
MOM: I don't know what I mean. Come look at the picture of ten-year-old me.
We go upstairs to her bedroom where she pulls out a portrait of her taken when she was ten. It’s a photo altered to look like a painting.
ZACK: Oh, I've seen this painting.
MOM: I know you have and it's not a painting.
ZACK: Sorry. Right, I know.
MOM: Look at her eyebrows. Those are natural. Yours look fixed.
ZACK: Those are a ten-year-old girl's.
MOM: I know, I was ten.
ZACK: But where's the comparison? I can't get a girl's eyebrows.
MOM: What? I know you can't. [looks back at the photo] But they're so natural.
ZACK: Okay, but she's ten. You're ten.
MOM: Yours look fixed.
ZACK: I'm sorry.
MOM: No, don't be sorry, I love them. They're great.
ZACK: You just said you hated them.
MOM: I do. They just need to look more natural.
That’s when I retired to my room for the evening.