It was my first time. I’d never had anyone fuss with my face, shape my eyebrows, those were things other women did, not me.
I lay back on the table and she put a pillow under my knees. As she studied my face, she pulled a bright light down to help her get a closer look like a dentist might do looking for an especially subtle cavity.
After she was done with my eyebrows, the waxing and tweezing, I asked her a question I’d been wanting to ask somebody for a long time. “Do you think anything can be done about my face?” I was sixty then and had long vertical creases in my cheeks, lines across my forehead, and branches of worry on the side of each eye.
She studied me for a long moment and then stood back, returning the examination lamp back to its place.“No,” she said…
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