A beautiful life (and some waggling)

When you say goodbye to an old life and move into a new one, there are some tearful goodbyes that need to be said. Friends, family, blah, blah, blah. These are hard, but, you know, they’ll visit.

Some relationships, however, are over. The tyranny of distance is too great to bear. It’s a rare person who travels hours and hours up the freeway to see their dentist, doctor, hairdresser or beauty therapist. But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t be one of those rare people.

Surprisingly, the whole hair thing was sorted in minutes. We met through friends, she was cheap, she was good and she was easy. Sold.

It took me a year to find a new dentist. We’ve had our first date and so far things are going well. He’s the kind of guy who’ll tell you if there’s spinach in your teeth. I like that in a person.

I rushed into things with our doctor – sometimes needs must, right? I had a need, he was there, and it’s not easy to find The One when potentials are thin on the ground. Just ask the women of Sydney. Down here, it’s not a matter of choosing a doctor, it’s a matter of finding someone, anyone, with room on their dance card when push comes to shove. So I dove in early, put all my cards on the table, and, fortunately, it seems to be working out.

The whole beauty thing, however, is another kettle of fish all together. I thought I’d cracked it. Things were going well and then… let’s just say that I’m thinking that this may not be a longterm affair.

When you are fair of hair, pale of skin and freckled of hue as I am, you need brows. They need to be shaped, darkened and not destroyed. In the big smoke, I had one trusted soul who'd looked after my needs for seven or eight years. But she didn't want to make the move with me.

I should have tried harder to convince her.

My last visit to what had become my regular salon here ended with me looking not unlike Mr Potato Head. Wearing his Angry Eyes. The Builder tried hard to reassure me, but found it difficult. Every time he spoke to me, his eyes were invariably drawn upward, fixated. I couldn’t even be offended. I kept catching sight of my brows in mirrors and startling myself. I even found myself waggling them. Waggling. This was not good.

Mr3, who is in the habit of telling me when I need to ‘get my brows on’, thought they were wonderful. He kept patting them, like pet caterpillars.

That was more than six weeks ago. Which means it’s time to ‘get my brows on’ again. But now I have a decision to make. Do I risk my regular salon again, knowing I could end up looking like an extra in Toy Story 3? Or do I branch out and try someone new?

Which means all that getting to know you chit-chat again. Baring my brows and other body parts to another stranger. Waiting to see how it all turns out.

The dilemma.

All I can hear in my head is Eddie Vedder singing ‘She lies and says she’s in love with them…can’t find a better brow’.