The Rabbit of Madrid Redux

My father (an Ernie, not a Bert) had one. My brother has one. My husband used to have one.

Its entry in the highly respected Urban Dictionary (and I could have cited The Oxford English Dictionary because, yes it is there too) reads:

1. unibrow
A single eyebrow, linked by hair over the nose between what in most people are two separate eyebrows.
Colin Ferrel has one of the sexiest unibrows I've ever seen.

Whether you call it a unibrow, a monobrow, or a synophrys (its medical term; yes, Knarf it is a medical condition), the supra-nasal caterpillar has raised a lot of eyebrows over the years. In Victorian times, bearers of a unibrow were thought to belong to the criminal element. Of course, the Victorians were also keen into phrenology whereby one's character was determined by the lumps & bumps on the head. But superstition dies hard: a century later, a character in the 1984 film The Company of Wolves is warned to "beware of wind fallen apples and of men whose eyebrows meet" - since she is later devoured by a werewolf, one could argue that the prophecy was true.

Some consider the unibrow a sign of mental feebleness whereas my brother will tell you that it's a mark of profound intelligence. Others view it as just plain ugly whereas Frida Kahlo made it quirky and *almost* sexy. In fact, in parts of Iran, unibrows are believed to signify virginity and are highly prized as indicators of feminine beauty. Given evil pinhead President Ahmadinejad's obsession with female modesty, if I were a woman in Iran, I'd keep a stash of big black Sharpies in my medicine cabinet, my purse, and under the cushions of the chesterfield.

Truth is, I don't need one. Like actresses Angie Harmon and Salma Hayek, I was born with this outward manifestation of "profound intelligence" and feminine beauty. And like my hirsute sisters, it no longer exists ... thanks to my Mom's insistence (you'll thank me one day) that I spend 15 minutes a week for half my adolescence at the electrolysist's.

So the point of all of this fascinating erudition I just tossed your way? Yesterday, Señor Gato Gringo went to the hairdresser - my hairdresser - to get a trim. Now I know that I've already waxed poetically (The Rabbit of Seville, The Rabat of Seville and A Brief Disquisition into Gender Issues in Morocco) about the trials and tribulations of getting my hair cut, both here and in Morocco (oh dear, there she goes again!) but alas, once again, The Hair Cut has reared its ugly head.

Reader: his haircut took 75 minutes. Seventy-five minutes! To add insult to injury, despite the fact that his hair is a smidgen shorter than mine, his corte de pelo eclipsed mine by a half an hour. And what did this extra 30 minutes buy him? Allow me to recreate the process as established by The World's Second-Most* Meticulous Barber:

1) The Consultation, in which Señor Gato Gringo is persuaded to colour his greying head. Since every one of those grey hairs marks a week of our married life, he refuses.
2) Shampoo, conditioning, & towelling
3) 'Product' is added to Señor Gato Gringo's hair and left in. Señor G.G. can be excused for not knowing what it was - suffice to say that it is an overpriced and trendily packaged Redken product.
4) Brief inspection of Señor G.G.'s head
5) The Haircut, in which each hair on his head is trimmed individually.
6) Neck hair trim (lovingly referred to as 'wolf hairs' by Señor G.G.) with electric razor
7) Ear hair trim with scissors
8) The Unibrow is plucked until the only trace of it is the virgin patch of inter-eyebrow skin that glows a painful ruby-red all day. Why Señor G.G. agrees to this still boggles my mind.
9) A complimentary unibrow 'touch-up' is offered. (When it grows back, come and see me ...)
10) Shampoo & towelling
11) Blow-dry
12) Judicious application of 'Product' is added to Señor Gato Gringo's hair. Señor G.G. can be excused for not knowing what it was - suffice to say that it is an overpriced and trendily packaged Redken product.
13) Ta dahhhh! - Thundering Round of Applause by La Gatita Gringa

It probably goes without saying that this hour and a quarter cost Señor G.G. ten euros less than my visit two weeks earlier. But then it should, shouldn't it? This is perfectly logical in the Gender Issue-Skewed World of Hair Salons.

Of course the real question is, will Señor G.G.maintain his jaunty new pair of eyebrows or revert to the unibrow. I must confess that he looks different. Not better, just different. Maybe better. I don't know. I somehow feel that he may have betrayed his unibrow-brethren - let down the team - but then I remind myself that he didn't ask for The Procedure. It just happened. The same way that girls get pregnant. It just happened.

A moment ago I asked Señor G.G that very question, should they stay or should they go. He paused. Jury's out, he said. Ahhh, that means he likes them.

So dear reader: make your voice heard. Should Señor G.G allow his unibrow to grow back or should he be condemned to a life of waxing, plucking and/or electrolysis? You decide and let me us know in the process (poll is at upper right of screen).

* The World's Most* Meticulous Barber is in Rabat.