My husband is on a business trip this week (until Wednesday) which means I'm flying solo with the kids. I don't mind really - I mean, I miss him, and they miss him, but there's just a different vibe around the house when we know that Daddy won't be walking through the door.

Basically, we keep it going like a frat house party. We consume lukewarm food in unexpected locations, eschewing silverware. We crank up the kid tunes and rock out when we should be preparing for the next day. When the kids finally drop, I watch trashy tv and do girlie things like wear moisturizing gloves and socks, dye my roots and groom my eyebrows.

It's kind of a tradition, come to think of it. The man leaves town and I'm suddenly all about me. Could be worse, I guess. I could be calling in the dancing boys. Not me, though. I prefer to launch an assult on my stray brow-hairs and slather a pound and a half of cream upon my faaaaaaace...

So, last night, on the commercial breaks of Desperate Housewives, I was making those plucking faces and yanking rebel hairs out by the roots. Plucking faces are one of those things that I prefer to keep under wraps. It's just ugly.

So anyway, my eyes are tearing up and my nose is running, and I'm debating whether a glass of wine or two would numb it or if that would make me think that maybe all this boosheet is too much trouble and I should just shave the muthas off entirely. This would be a disaster, because I don't have a steady hand to begin with, and if I can make myself look just like Jack Nicholson as the Joker
with a red lipliner WHEN I'M TRYING TO JUST LINE MY LIPS, you can understand why I would not be a good candidate for drawn-on brows.

I decide to skip the wine, and gave a final yank to finish my left arch. I picked up the remote and unpaused the show, and felt a dribble running down my face. "Geez, I'm SO out of shape if pulling out an eyebrow hair works up a sweat," I thought to myself as I absently put up my hand to wipe the wetness away.

Glancing at my hand, I saw red. Blood. And it kept on coming, trickling down the side of my face. I pressed a kleenex to wee little spot, and still the blood kept welling.

This morning, it was still bleeding a little bit. What did I do? Did I select the magic hair that was somehow connected to a major artery? I found that resting my knuckles on my cheekbone, pointing my thumb at my ear and extending my pointer finger up to cover the wound made me look rather deep, but it got kind of silly.

Now, 18 + hours later, I've got a nice scab there. Because THAT really looks so much better than a stray hair. That's why people flock to me, you know. Because I'm literally groomed to within an inch of my life, judging from the blood loss.