THE GIRL WITH THE AWESOME EYEBROWS

It had been a long hard day.  She had spent all afternoon with her sister and her cousins pillaging the department stores and make-up counters, despite having gotten all of her shopping done months ago, and not having any interest whatsoever in eye-shadow, lipstick, and foundation.
Well, maybe lipstick. A risque hue of red or brilliant burgundy did remarkable things. She knew that; experiments in front of the bathroom mirror proved it. But till now there had been no need to display that wisdom.

It was fun in some ways spending the day with a clutch of other women. But also enervating, tiring even. The racket had gotten on her nerves. She had left when they suggested going over to the sample-sale south of Market Street, in the old Jewelry and Fashion Center. No way! Expensive horrible coffee, bad snacks, a depressing horde of frantic Philippinas, Jersey-type bimbos and suburbanites, AND her dear dear female relatives! There would have been bloodshed.
Imitating Cartman on Southpark, but only silently to herself, she mouthed the words "screw you guys, I'm going home!"
Audibly however, she pleaded a headache.
Her sister snippily opined that she should save it for when she was married, but told her to take a cab and handed her a twenty to pay for the ride.
Naturally she took the bus instead.
Crazy, she wasn't.


After a long luxurious soak, she came downstairs in her fluffy bathrobe and bunny slippers, and happily opened the refrigerator in the kitchen. She knew there were still some eclairs there, from the big pink box her dad had picked up at Bob's Donuts on Polk. Her jaw dropped, with dismay she observed the wasteland. Not an eclair left! Not a single one! All gone! Dang!
She loved eclairs. Especially heated up slightly in the microwave so that the vanilla filling inside was warm and oozy. Creamy donut-eclairs dripping custard, yum. So good, so very very good.

From the living room she heard cheerful male laughter, and the sound of a football game. The men were all there - her brother, her father, uncle Bork, cousin Poopiehead, and her despicable brother-in-law.
Whose name shall NOT be mentioned.
She never could understand what her sister saw in the man. A perfectly ordinary dweeb, naught more than a computer geek. The only thing even remotely remarkable about him was his health-club physique. Thick thick arms, defined pecs, and (and here she was just guessing, albeit with distaste) buns of steel. If he didn't work out everyday, she knew that her sister would have not found him nearly so interesting. His personality wasn't anything to write home about, and as for social graces she doubted he had any. She herself was not into muscle-men.
And without question HE had eaten the eclairs! She knew exactly what had happened: he had spent three hours on the treadmill and lifting weights at the gym that morning, then he had come home ravenous and attacked the best thing in the ice box. Selfish beast! Yesterday he had made fun of her fondness for pastries and pies, and when her father said he would pick stuff up from Bob's, his eyes lit up.

Some day she hoped to have a refrigerator of her own, in a private place, with a lock on the door, and a hidden entrance. She would only share the good things inside with nice people.
Eclairs are NOT for everybody. Neither are peach cobblers and apple turnovers.
Nor cream pie. All of these were the best part of Thanksgiving.
Bugger the turkey, gimme fried pastries!
You can also have the pumpkin pies, I don't wann'em!

She was convinced that her brother-in-law had only come to stay with them over the holiday weekend for the free food. His contribution to the family feast had been pumpkin pies from Safeway. With, oh totally gross, cool whip!
Cheap odious bastard. He really didn't want to share.
What on earth DID her sister see in him?
Hah, stupid steel buns!

She was determined that before the weekend was up, she would have her very own gooey luscious eclairs. It would be a feast! These she would lovingly consume, sucking up gobs of vanilla goodness.
In private, without any of her relatives knowing. Warm and delicious. Mmm!
Plenty of paper towels to hide all evidence of her secret passion.
With the curtains drawn, and the lights off.

Maybe she should ask for a refrigerator for Christmas?
After all, a young lady has certain special needs.
And everyone else would have more space.

She furrowed her eyebrows contemplatively, while the masculine sounds of sports and eclair fuelled gaiety in the living room rose and fell.
She looked fierce and determined, while thinking of eclairs.





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