The Unibrow

Ladies and Gents, if you have a physical feature that you're worried might be questionable, never ever EVER point it out to your significant other and ask, "Is this ok? I mean, you're all right with it, right?"
Your S.O. will smile and say, "No, babe it's totally ok."
But it's not. It's so not.

You see, Chris made this mistake when we were dating. He has a few hairs that like to sprout right above the bridge of his nose. I never noticed until one day he took off his glasses and asked, "You're ok with this?"
It was like glass shattered. All I could see was that bloody unibrow.
And then, suddenly, all I saw anywhere were unibrows.  They were EVERYWHERE.  Like when you buy a car and then suddenly you notice everyone on the bloody highway drives one just like yours? Unibrows were sprouting up everywhere like matching car models and dandelions. It was horrifying. I just . . . I couldn't focus. I had to get rid of it before my life was smothered by brow fur.

Chris has been reluctantly compliant and keeps the space between his eyes bald. Because, otherwise, it drives me batty. It's like a bloody twitch. He tries talking to me, and all I can see are those five little hairs, glaring back at me and laughing. It's insulting to be mocked by eyebrow hair.

Recently, Chris put his foot down. Tweezers were vetoed, and the Unibrow flourished. My ninja skills were thwarted time and time again. My puppy dog eyes failed .  . . not that they ever worked well anyways, but it as a harsh blow. My attempt at bossing was an inept failure. Scaring him didn't work either because, apparently, I'm not scary. At all. Bullocks.

Finally, I did the only thing I could. I went on a Feminine Strike. All those chores and duties assigned to the woman (c'est moi) would remain unfinished until Chris had killed the Unibrow.  A little extreme? Yeah, maybe. But it only lasted about two hours, if even that. Chris didn't even know it was going on. I thought I had told the cats while he was in earshot, but apparently destroying Grand Boss Elemental Oogly Boogly on World of Warcraft renders one deaf to the real world . . . and your wife saying she's not doing any more chores.

Do you know what finally broke the man? Sleepy rambling.

The sheets were in the dryer, but I wasn't going to tell Chris that because, you see, I was on strike after all. So I took my pillow and snuggled onto the couch. Some time later, I felt someone nudging me and kissing my cheek. "Babe, I put the sheets on the bed," Chris said. "Come on, let's get you to bed." (ok, yes, it's mean to veto anyone that sweet  but I was desperate . . . you HAVE to understand the severe desperation).
Slugglishly, I squinted up at him, pointed and muttered, "Uni . . . broooooow." Before snuggling back under the blanket.

Chris laughed and ushered me to bed, where I was promptly again unconscious.  In the morning, the Unibrow was dead.
I win.

Oh sweet, sweet simple, sleepy victory.