Eyebrow Width--the Overlooked Sign
QuickPost | System Overview | Movable Type Publishing Platform I think eyebrow width gets a bad rap. Lips and eyes get all the attention as a message board that says, "I'm pissed, happy, adorable, hard-ass, sour, sweet, bitter, or yes, horny. Even our wrinkles receive more notice! They say, "I'm distinguished, I have character, I've had a full life, I don't believe in wearing sunglasses, I have a frequent buyer card for Darque Tan, or I'm old as dirt." But how thin our brows are, for instance, can speak volumes. You know those women who pluck their brows to a 1-micrometer thickness? Stay away from them. They're usually hard-ass bitches with a set of brass knuckles in their Coach purses. And you've seen guys and girls with the whole mono-brow thing going on? Stay away from them because they probably smell. If they don't have the time and awareness level to mow that strip once in a while, they probably don't have the time and awareness to take a shower every day. OK, I know some cultures find that bushy one-piece desirable, but those people usually stink anyway. There's an interesting brow characteristic that, I'm proud to say, I've standardized into a marker for dementia (loony-tunes crazy, for those of you who don't watch doctor shows on TV.) I've coined this marker the "Epstein Dementia Scale" after one of my old patients. Several years ago, I admitted her to the hospital for an evaluation of an abrupt onset of dementia (see above is you suffer from short-term memory loss.) Every day on hospital rounds I noticed that she painted "eyebrows" on at varying distances from her real (albeit scanty) ones. The more out of it she was, the higher the painted ones were. Eventually, they migrated north all the way to her hairline. That was the day she was double-parked in the Twilight Zone. Some cultures, for reasons that escape me, have the custom of actually shaving their brows only to apply a strip of eyebrow pencil to replace them. My daughter, Michelle, has more than once fantasized about attaching alcohol swaps to her thumbs, running up to one of them, vigorously rubbing the swabs on those pencil strips, then running away. Given the neighborhoods where she'd find her prey, I fear for her safety. Notice that no mention of specific cultures have been made here, so those who wish to protest this blog, take you little PC-tree-hugging ass, sit it in a corner, and think about how overly serious you take life.