Of love, loss and hair removal

Posted on June 28, 2006

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One of the foremost topics of concern to my family is having a superior pair of tweezers. What with our eyebrows and my dad’s goatee, and the generally hirsute nature of Egyptian females, we are in a constant agitation over locating the right pair. Long afternoons have been spent discussing the characteristics of such an item. Our coffers yield at least 20 pairs, total, of various dimensions and qualities. Some years ago, I found the perfect pair in said coffers. They were slender, golden, and refined. You didn’t have to break a knuckle to squeeze them together. Most importantly, they possessed supernatural powers of hair extraction. I would frequently demonstrate their prowess to my family; stage little demonstrations where I extracted fine, short hairs with one graceful pull. They were open-mouthed with admiration.

Many attempts were made by various family members, particularly my father, to wrest these tweezers from my keeping. They would borrow them and then hope I’d forget. But I always pursued them with great warlike cries. They survived, stoutly, travels between many apartments, cities, and climates, sustaining only the faintest patina of rust, from a beach trip.

Alas, this delightful companionship was doomed. The tweezers fell casualty to my hurry to pack, and they were left behind in a fruit bowl in the kitchen. I also left my classic pair of high heeled black shoes and a dearly beloved teal purse. I think of all three friends every night in commemoration, but it is the tweezers that have proved irreplaceable. When informed of the loss, my dad was deeply grieved while my sister screeched, “What did you bring? What?”

Since then we have been combing Kuwait looking for a pair of tweezers to match the lost pair. We have searched pharmacies, cosmetic stores, and supermarkets. After each failed tweezer-testing my dad looks at me sorrowfully and laments over my negligence. Until we find the right pair, I will just have to walk around with my eyebrows even more askew than usual.

Update: my mom has just come to my door offering my what she said was the perfect pair of tweezers. Sadly, they did not come up to par. They weren’t squeezy enough and failed to capture a single hair.
Further (and hilariously) my ex-roomate, who reads my blog, was moved by my suffering to go to our old apartment – where she no longer lives, but which I left without officially moving out from – and retrieved my tweezers. I don’t think it would be possible to send them, but at least they’re safe.

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