September 16, 2007

On Thursday night, I had my eyebrows threaded at a spot called Menka Beauty Salon in Jackson Heights.  I go there every few weeks and I get a random “threader” every time I go.  Excellent work, etc.  Normal stuff for most women in NYC, but what struck me though, was the intimacy. 

I know, that sounds crazy and maybe it has something to do with me*, but there is just something about it. 

We don’t speak at all.  She taps lightly on my face when she needs me to place or move my fingers.  She tucks the tissue into my collar, pulling it out and putting it back as needed.

The thread in her mouth, her body close to my face.  I can smell her.  She breathes over my face and says nothing while she shapes.  After, she smooths my brows with her fingers and massages with bit of creme.  She rubs my forehead lightly with finger and thumbs, and when she is done, she taps my temple to indicate the end.

I don’t know.  Maybe its just me.

*I imagine that even women who are 100% straight must understand some part of this, no?

(As a non-practicing math-type, I admit, this thought intrigues me more than the eybrow threading.)


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