By Lorry Myers
My husband tried on his new face mask and that’s when I saw it illuminated in the kitchen light.
“Ah oh,” I said before I could stop myself.
“What?” My husband answered, taking off his mask.
He has heard that sound before.
“Well.” I said, with an edge of concern in my voice. “I never noticed it before but you look like a wild child with one weird, white eyebrow sticking straight up. With your mask on, you can really see it.”
“What?” Randy questioned, in a confused tone.
So, I dragged him back to the bathroom, stood him in front of the mirror and pointed it out. Randy took one look and shrugged his shoulders.
I have seen that shrug before.
“Well.” I said. “I am not going out with you like that. All I will be able to see is that wild hair sticking up. We have to take care of it right now.”
“What?” My language impaired husband said again. “What?”
“Take off your glasses.” I told him, in a tone of voice that meant business.
“What.” Randy said, before he took off his glasses.
Meanwhile, I dug around in the bathroom “tool drawer” and came out with a pair of serious tweezers, pinching them together to show I meant business.
“What?” My Man of Many Words said with a hint of panic in his voice
I studied my husband’s face and saw other wild hairs in places they shouldn’t be. Now that I had seen them, I couldn’t un-see them. I stood there and wondered how long it had been since I had really looked at Randy without his glasses. Evidently, it had been awhile.
“Oh my,” I said under my breath but loud enough for Randy to hear.
“What?” my slightly blind husband asked, leaning in for a closer look.
“Look at all this.” I told Randy, peering into his face. “You are a wild child, it’s like you have hair growing everywhere. Don’t you ever look at yourself in the mirror?”
“What?” My husband said for the umpteenth time.
“Close your eyes.” I told him, determined to take care of the situation right now. Before Randy could protest, I grabbed his chin, my tweezers and without warning, I started plucking away.
“What!” Randy yelled, using others words that I won’t repeat.
I quickly jerked three more hairs from his uni-brow then sat back and watched while he slapped himself between his eyes, covering the growing red skin.
That’s when I pulled out a little pair of scissors and turned his face to the light.
“What?” my husband, suddenly turned baby, said in a whimper.
For the full column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.