Cracked Mirrors and Raised Eyebrow(s)

While waiting for the lights  at the railway crossing to turn green I idly checked the rearview mirror.  My lipstick was still in place but I was surprised to discover that my eyebrows were decidedly bushy.  They had looked fine in the bathroom mirror that morning but here, in the rare beam of sunlight which critically scanned the waiting traffic like a laser, they were unquestionably taking on Groucho proportions.

This morning I remembered to take action but first I had to clean the magnifying mirror which swings out on one of those criss-cross extendable arms.  My sons use it for shaving and, as they are taller than me, I had to stand on tiptoe which was precarious to say the least.  Also, the mirror is broken, so I had to peer into whatever parts I could manoeuvre in my direction.  Having set it all up to my satisfaction, I went in search of the eyebrow tweezers which weren't in their usual place, of course.  I dug them out of my knitting basket, traipsed back up the stairs to the bathroom and set to work.

In spite of the brilliant morning sunshine beaming benevolently through the bathroom window, I could only clearly make out my right eyebrow, so I relied on guesswork to complete the one on the left. It occurred to me I might be more successful were I to remove myself to the car and make use of the rearview mirror.  But then I realised that I would have to drive to a quiet, unpopulated spot somewhere.  My neighbours are used to my antics, but the sight of me parked outside my house, plucking my eyebrows might just be pushing things a little too far.  Especially as they are all busy washing their cars, scrubbing their front doorsteps, mowing the lawn and indulging in the usual joyful neighbourhood Saturday morning activities.

I wondered if one could get arrested for parking and plucking one's eyebrows. What with all this wondering and cogitating I noticed that I had got carried away with the left one and was now sporting a permanently quizzical expression.  I resisted the temptation to even up its partner and downed tools before ending-up resembling a feisty elderly French dame from a Toulouse Lautrec poster.

This look could be useful, I decided.  People might assume that I possess a critical and inquiring mind.  Hopefully it will work to my advantage when I drive later to check the row of parked cars for a broken or cracked side mirror incurred by my having cut it a little too fine while driving my son to school yesterday.

I had heard a faint snapping sound as I eased by, but didn't register until my son said: "Mum, I think you hit someone's side mirror", thus scotching the thought that there were snipers operating in the hills of St. Wendel.  I must have temporarily blacked-out, like that time at the supermarket car park when a man accused me of driving into his car.  I truly and honestly had not noticed a thing, but apologised profusely.  Luckily, he forgave me and waved me off.  I'm still not convinced he wasn't making it up.

I did notice, that time I drove into the row of supermarket trolleys at the same car park, while becoming   aware of a man standing and staring in amazement.  "What's that guy staring at?, I muttered.  "Well," my long-suffering son replied drily, "he's probably never seen a woman drive into a row of trolleys before".

As I set off yesterday evening to visit a friend, the sight of a crack on the back of my wing mirror dragged up the suppressed memory of that morning.  Being a mature, grown woman (I know, I've mentioned this before and some might quip that the lady doth protest too much) I resolved to return to the scene of the crime the next morning, check the parked cars for damage, own up and cough-up. I could either tuck a polite note under the windscreen wipers or be really brave, march up to several front doors and search out my victims. Then again, I might get arrested for loitering with intent, or ringing doorbells and running away.

I think I will brazen it out and go for the direct approach. Who knows?  Maybe the unfortunate car owners will be so intimidated by my quizzical, inquiring eyebrow, they might find themselves overwhelmed by insecurity and assume it was their fault for parking so carelessly.