We headed up on the first really summery Saturday of the year to a simple store-front salon. There were two threading “stations;” non-ergonomic office chairs with mirrors in front of them. The girl behind the counter looked about as old as my high school diploma and spoke somewhat stilted English. I requested an eyebrow threading, at which she smiled, nodded and ignored me. I looked around and noticed a few other women sitting in the front of the room.

Maybe we should take a seat, I whispered to Lolita.

Not one for ambiguity, Lolita asked, “does she have to wait long?”

“No,” said the young lady, “she next.”

We headed back to the empty threading station. The girl from the front counter joined us presently and took up the instrument of her trade. You're probably expecting some wordy description of the thread itself, but I've got nothing. It was ordinary white cotton thread, the kind that comes on a spool you can buy for less than $2.

The threader unreeled about four feet of thread and told me, “lie back.” Of course, the non-ergonomic office chair is better for inducing recurrent back pain than reclining. I had to slouch down until the back of my head was braced by the backrest. This mission accomplished, she had me stretch the skin of my eyelid and forehead.
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