Robert Carey, aged eight
Part 2 of a short story series about the young Robert Carey - and in case you don't already have it, you can get part 1 as well, A Pest of a Boy.
I am lucky enough to have inherited luxuriant hair from my grandmother (who also gave me the tits and a lot of unwanted famine-proofing around my tum). No, it doesn\’t bother me when people say I have a mad mop. They\’re just jealous.
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I\’m not quite sure why this means I also have bushy eyebrows, but I do. Unfortunately, tweezing makes my eyes run with tears until I turn into a snot-fountain, even though I\’m quite brave and have given birth to three children with only Entanox for pain-relief. Waxing makes my eyelids sore and swollen.
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Then yesterday, I was mooching about the Swan Walk shopping centre in Horsham where my wonderful aunt lives (so convenient for Gatwick) and found a small business there called \”Divine Brow Bar\” doing eyebrow threading.
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Wow. Quick, unmessy, incredibly skillful, not that painful and now I have tamed, smart, civilized eyebrows. Plus I also got a lovely facial massage.