I have eyebrow OCD.

No, I’m not one of those women who plucks her eyebrows until there’s no hair left and then have to pencil in new ones. That’s just freaky and wrong.

I will, however, obsess over a wayward, disobedient hair and won’t be able to function until it’s plucked and gone.

You know that hair, right? The one that sticks out so long it starts to curl like a question mark, when all the other hairs are lying down flat like good little hyphens? Yeah, that one.

Yesterday I found a question mark.

At work.

Where I don’t have tweezers.

I did find this, though. It’s a Swiss Army card. I think you use it if your office gets hit by an avalanche and you have to MacGyver your way out.

swiss army cardLookie here. We have scissors, a letter opener/blade, a pressurized ballpoint pen, a magnifying glass, an LED light, four screwdriver tips and TWEEZERS.

Score!

Since I didn’t have a mirror, and a coworker who likely had one wasn’t around, I headed to the ladies room and got working on my hairy question mark.

I had problems immediately because there was barely any tension in my cheap Swiss Army tweezers. Over and over, they kept slipping off the hair. 
Then I heard a very faint rustle coming from a nearby stall. That was the “I’m here, wish you weren’t” rustle of someone trying to take care of business.

The #1 rule of bathroom etiquette? You exit the room if there is someone thinking really hard in there. They don’t need you loitering any more than you want to hear them thinking.

So I leave disappointed. The hair will have to wait. GRRRRR!

As soon as I get in the hallway, I’m ambushed by a student who frantically asks me the time.

When I tell him it’s 9:30 he says "Oh, man. That’s late. I’m really late for class, like 20 minutes late. I overslept! I never oversleep! I don’t want to go in now. Should I or shouldn’t I?"

I’m thinking "Dude, do you NOT see this question mark growing out of my head? I got bigger problems. Outta my way, Jack."

I wish him luck with his decision and leave him standing frozen in his tracks. I feel a little sorry for him, but not sorrier than I am about my errant hair. Priorities, people.

I head to a different ladies room upstairs. Good, no one’s in here.

Now. Let’s get to work.

I figure out how to pull hair easier by positioning my fingers at the tip of the Swiss Army tweezers and putting all the pressure there. Except, I keep pulling the wrong hairs.

Every time I think I have the question mark in my grip, it’s not. It’s a hyphen.

I’ve now pulled at least five hyphens and still have the question mark. And now the left brow is looking a little thinner than the right. Uh-oh.

Come on, Kath. Question mark! Question mark! 

I’m also getting red and puffy under the hairs because I’m over-plucking hyphens and they scream on the way out and leave a mark.

Worried now that I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day looking like a cross between Rocky Balboa and Bozo the Clown, and also scared someone will walk in on me during my hair surgery, I retreat and return to my office.

Luckily, my coworker is back at her desk and loans me a compact. Hunched over the mirror, I fluff up what remains of my left brow so the question mark stands out. Again. There it is, still taunting me. Oh, I’ve got you now.

With a steady hand, expert precision and perfect pressure, I grab hold of the question mark and yank away. I’ve got it! Yes, I’ve got it! Oh, sweet relief.

When I get home to a normal pair of tweezers, I even out and shape up my brows like I should have done sooner.

I make a mental note to buy a spare pair of tweezers so I can keep one at work because I’m pretty sure I’ll see another question mark – or worse, an ampersand – and I want to be ready for that bad boy.

&

Yeah. It could happen.

Stumble it!