Author: smedmom1-admin

Lest you think that I shunned the mouse on our trip south to the land of heat and humidity, I did visit Disney. Sort of. I went to Disney Springs.

 

Disney Springs is sort of an adult version of the park. Instead of endless lines for rides and characters wandering about with adoring children clinging to them, Disney Springs is all about dining and shopping. Two of my favorite things.

 

Shopping in Disney is not exactly normal. They have stores and kiosks everywhere with things to buy that you never thought of before.

 

Dining is a whole different ballgame. If you’re the type who can’t make up their mind, this may not be ideal for you. There are over 60 venues from food trucks to establishments fostered by Wolfgang Puck and Morimoto. Plus, and this is awesome, you can get a to go cup of your favorite alcoholic beverage to wander around. Gotta love that.

 

Entertainment? You want entertainment? Well, you can find it everywhere. Irish singers and dancers grace the stage at Raglan Road where you can dine and enjoy the show. Or you can enjoy one of the outdoor venues while you wonder the paths.

 

Since Florida is about a billion degrees on a good day, the best part about this is that you can go at night. It is only a half a billion degrees after dark although the humidity still hangs tough. Luckily, being from Pennsylvania, humidity is a way of life for 3 – 4 months out of the year.

 

But Disney Springs being Disney, is not for the person whose budget conscious even on vacation. Prices do reflect that you are at the famous entertainment center, so I had a preset spending limit that I almost kept.

 

But it is all good. The place itself was fun and the feeling of excitement was everywhere. But with all of this to see and do, I was stunned to see the number of adults with their face to their phone. I was nearly run over by these tech-o-holics as they roamed the streets with their faces awash in the glow of the phone they clutched dearly. Time to rejoin the world guys!

 

There’s lots more to see out here.

Being an empty nester isn’t all bad.  Sometimes there are some excellent benefits to having the children fly the coop. Like me, for instance, my daughter moved to Florida. Boom! Instant vacation spot with free lodging. You can’t beat that.

Husband and I just returned from one of our journeys south. The daughter had just moved to Orlando and was minutes away from Disney and Universal…and Gatorland.

Yes, I went to Gatorland. It is an attraction that’s been there forever. Predating the “mouse”, Gatorland gets you up close and personal with the denizens of the swamp.  From tiny hatchlings to a giant “big dog eating” gator, Gatorland has a gator size for everyone.

Events like the “Jumparoo”, where you can watch gators leap out of the water to snatch oven stuffer roasters from rope, draw people like flies to honey.  And, I assume, provide children with nightmares for years to come.

Since it was 39,645 degrees when we were there in October, we got to see the water park filled with kids having a great time cooling off. I felt a little uncomfortable having tasty morsels of children in the water scant yards from alligators of the child eating size. But a good time was being had, so I continued to hope for diligent separation of play area and gator pond.

The white alligators were pretty cool. Their sapphire blue eyes belied the fact that were not albino, but merely a gator who sunburns easily.  They also had a few crocodiles present. I presume this was for diversity purposes.

The other critter, that had a more than obvious place in the park, were the vultures. Yup. The big, black carrion chomping birds. And there were lots of them and they were annoying the local gators. My group began to attribute gangster qualities to the birds based on the behavior of specific specimens. By the time we left the observation area, we had an entire “Sopranos” episode going.

Lest you think that there is nothing else to see, there are wild cats indigenous to Florida, snakes, and a petting zoo.  Wait! Before you get visions of petting alligators, the zoo has goats, cows, emus, etc. They all seem well adapted in spiteof living surrounded by natural predators. My thoughts are that they drink… a lot. Jessica, the young lady at entrance told me that many of the animals there had been hand raised by her at home. This is my daughter’s dream. She would have loved to been on Noah’s Ark.

There are flamingos there too.  I have some personal feelings about flamingos. They are nature’s weirdest bird. God obviously put together the flamingo after He came up with the opium poppy. Let’s face facts: They are pink. Their knees bend backward. Their bills are upside down. And they sleep with their heads in their armpits. It doesn’t get too much weirder than that.

Like all good attractions, there are several gift shops where you can purchase actual alligator heads. I’d love to see the décor that they fit into. But the Christmas ornaments were the best! Nothing says Merry Christmas like an alligator hanging on the tree! I hope my daughter gets me an ornament as a gift this year. I’d love a swamp themed Christmas.

I had never been there before. But you have to see this place! Take a break from the glitter of Disney imagineers and settle down watching gators. It is fun, unusual and perhaps the most redneck thing you’ll ever do. But don’t forget to get a photo op by the giant gator jaw sculpture at the entrance! It’s part of the experience.

 

I have been trying to write this for a bit. Sometimes it isn’t easy to jostle works into meaningful sentences when the whole world has gone crabby.

Everywhere you turn, complainers are cranked up to full volume. Yellers are yelling and doomsayers are, well, doomsaying.

I have to chuckle at all of the anti-president folks who think the current president is the worst thing that has ever happened. News flash…every sitting president has been the worst president ever in the history of America until he dies. Then he was a wonderful statesman and patriot. Every. Single. President. It has all been done before, only this time we have Twitter.

When was the last time you were grateful for what you had and the people and things around you? I never see that on Facebook. Feeling crabby? Count the good things that you have. Think of your personal riches as compared to people in the world who are making do with the nearly nothing that they have. You’re lucky. That should make you feel good.

Have you considered your accomplishments? Did you raise a family? Get an education? Do something that you excelled at? Helped others? Volunteered your time? Successfully build a business? Create jobs? Or even find a better way to do something? The list could go on, but you get my drift. These things make you a special person, if not in the eyes of many, then in the eyes of the one person who thinks of you as an angel who helped them when they needed it most. That should make you feel happy.

When was the last time you set aside your own opinions, prejudices, and fears and treated someone with respect? I have found many an amazing person with an equally amazing story in someone who was different from me, or by someone who I was initially put off by. Respect also tempers our reactions to hatred and anger. You treat others better when you respect them and are worthy of their respect. It makes the world a better place.

Complaints? Everyone has them. Solutions? Not so much. Instead of voicing your complaints to people who can’t solve the problem, tell someone who has the power and authority to fix the problem. Present a solution, even if it’s not the best, at least you tried to think of a way to solve the problem. Work with the problem until it can be resolved.

Just feeling crabby and out of sorts? Instead of sharing you mood with others, or allowing your mood to dictate your manners, take a breath. Figure out what’s wrong and fix it. Meditate, lose yourself in a hobby, grab a cup of coffee and just settle down, play some music, reset. Being miserable gets misery returned to you. It is very contagious. Fortunately so is happiness, industriousness, and laughter.

Last week I actually shut off my phone, refused to go out and lost myself in a novel because everyone I spoke to was crabby, disrespectful of my ideas, and in general…not who I wanted to be around. I had to shield myself from the negativity around me.

Choosing crabby is definitely your prerogative. But it gets you nowhere, fast. Believe me.

Be thankful. Be respectful. Be happy.

I live in a small town.

There are under 10,000 souls in the sections that makeup our town. Each one is quick to criticize our small town, but equally quick to defend her in an attack from beyond her boundaries. I guess that qualifies us as family.

There is a certain sense of security in a small town that you find no where else. You are likely to know your neighbors (and their business whether you want to or not). If I were to go outside and yell for help right now, I’d get at least a half a dozen people running over. People let you know when something looks wrong at your house. It could be a strange car in front or a kid walking past repeatedly.

Your neighbors know where you usually go; and ask about you when you aren’t there.

I knew the minute my kids strayed from the streets they were permitted to be on.

We care for our own here.

There is also unspoken competition among Old Croydon, Croydon Acres, Croydon Manor and Barryville. Why Barryville? Not sure. Named after some guy named Barry I suppose. But let a neighbor encounter devastating trouble and everyone will rally around to collect for their needs and help out in anyway they can.

At the end of the day, we are all a middle class, blue collar, bedroom community. All of us.

There are a few stores, a few restaurants, bars (although a lot fewer than before), a bank, post office, gas stations and other places to get what you need and see people you know.

Our parks host concerts, and kids events and playground equipment. Neighbors gather to enjoy the day and talk. Even though our schools are becoming more “centralized “ and children travel to attend with others from other towns nearby, they all know one another. They are neighbors.

The area is rich in history. The Lenape tribes made their home by the Neshaminy creek. China and White Halls by the river that were converted into hospitals during the revolutionary and civil wars. Later they served as stops along the Underground Railroad and eventually a college then apartments. Those buildings are gone now. As are Grundy and Sunbury mansions, whose life times saw pre and post Colonial life. They even claimed that Sunbury was the most haunted building in the area. It’s gone now but the stories live on.

On the other hand, our train station stop along the famed Northeast corridor sports a beautiful station. Not stopping there, the area around the station received a much needed facelift. It does look nice now. People are still running over the medians, but not as much as before. And tractor trailers on their way to our industries by the river still get stuck under the serpentine train bridge. All. Of. The. Time.

We report when that happens to one another mostly via social media. Saving our friends and neighbors time and aggravation is just another way of watching out for them and entertaining ourselves with the story of how yet another truck was snared by the bridge in spite of the warning signs.

Our small town is a place that you can hate, love or exist in. Sometimes all three. But there is no place like it.

Last week, we had a series of firsts for our little clan. We went to Wildwood for the weekend and, while that is not unusual for us, this time we took the dog.

Now for those of you who don’t know, we have a 6 year old Basset Hound named Bentley. His favorite hobbies are eating, sleeping, shedding, drooling and going to Petco for his “mini-makeover”. Sounds like he is a complete mess, but he’s a good protector and loves us with every ounce of his being.

This trip was the longest Ben has experienced. His first big hurdle was sitting in the backseat. When hubby takes him to the Dog and Bull or on errands, Ben rides up front. He feels like he belongs there. He looks cool sitting there with the top down and ears flapping in the breeze. But being lower in seniority, he had to relinquish his front row seat to me. The backseat of the Camaro is perfect for him. Not having long legs, he fits nicely on the bench seat that was clearly designed to be comfortable if you were an amputee. Buckled in, yes he has a seatbelt, he proceeded to rest his head in between the front seats and make little dying sounds…for two hours. It was the saddest (funniest) thing you’ve ever

Upon arrival, the next big thing was steps. We live in a ranch style home. The only steps this dog has encountered were the steps helping his shortness up on to the sofa. Overcoming the great pull of gravity, he managed to climb up reasonably well. Going down was a bit more challenging. Bassets have a lot of extra “basset” on board. Going down steps allows this extra to shift to the front creating a deeply wrinkled forehead and a badly distributed pile of dog. Ben slowly navigated the stairs and managed to avoid face planting at the bottom. I’ve never been so proud.

At the house that we rent, Ben discovered another exciting thing that we don’t have at home. Wall to wall carpeting. This is the equivalent to discovering that the place you are staying is one big bed. He promptly proved this point by laying down in a random high traffic area and starting to snore loudly as he was exhausted from his long journey.

We paid attention to dog friendly areas and businesses when we were there before. Breakfasting at the Bagel Time Café was fun. Bentley was so well behaved as he was served water and ate his share of bagel. I was worried that he would try to mooch from the large part on the deck with us, but outside of watching them, he minded his business nicely. The trip to the farmers market gave Ben the chance to see and smell a lot of new things. They even had a custom home made dog biscuit company there. In reality though, the big coupe at the market were the seasons first tomatoes. They taste like heaven.

Ben got to visit the sea wall and the dog park before leaving. Unimpressed by the sea wall, probably because there was nothing to eat, Ben preferred his trip to the dog park. Interesting smells and so many places that needed to be peed on highlighted the romp. The sand proved to not be an obstacle. Bassets have large, alligator foot shaped paws that allow him to walk on the surface without too much sinkage. The only drawback was his timing. He wanted to go out early that day. And by early, I mean “wake everyone at 5 in the morning to go out and do something”. Dog park at dawn does have its benefits. It is cooler at that time of day and the park is pretty empty. Just one other early rising soul had their pup there.

Dog park at dawn.

All in all, our “weekend with basset” went amazingly well. The new smells and large seagulls were an experience that proved older dogs can learn new things…like the boardwalk smells like pizza lives there and hot dogs tastes extra good by the beach.

Holy Cow! It looks like Bank of America is getting out of the banking business.

I went to my local branch, well, not my local branch because they closed that years ago, but to a sort of local branch. Normally, I write a check for the money that we need for the week. I would drive up to the teller window, shoot the check, ID, and a note explaining the denominations I needed to the teller. In return, the shuttle would bring back my ID, a receipt, and the money I requested in the appropriate denominations. Easy, right?

Well, no more. All of Bank of America’s drive tellers are gone. So, ok, I’ll use the ATM then ride around making one dollar purchases to get change for the twenty dollar bills that I practically have to hang myself on my seat belt to retrieve. No such luck. The machine choked out fifty dollar bills with a few twenties to make it look good. No denomination request screen, nothing. I used it twice to be sure.

So I pull into the parking lot and limped into the bank. I sat in one of the chairs and waited until someone noticed me. I explained the problem of fifties being useless to non-casino going folks because many stores do not accept them. I needed smaller denominations to pay the man who cuts the lawn, delivery people, etc. the story that followed horrified me.

Not only were ATMs going to be the only drive up banking, but they were all going to hack up fifties because of the nearby casino. To get smaller denominations, I would need to come into the bank, however, they were reducing the teller staff to one or two on duty. I figure eventually the teller will vanish from the Bank of America payroll all together.

Why? I was told that there is the technology and they want you to use it.

Now, I get this. I really do. I almost never touch a light switch in my house and most things I have are somehow automated. (Except laundry, I haven’t figured that out yet.) I can definitely ride the technology bus with the best of them. But there is always a need for services that only humans can provide.

Of course, I was also told there was a screen that I could select fifties or twenties. Nope, I tried it twice and never got that screen. I looked for it the second time around.

I suppose the powers that be at Bank of America tip the pizza guy with fifties, but I can’t. It must be nice to do so.

Bank of America is just a place for your auto deposit to go. It is a place for you to go to a scammable ATM and retrieve a portion of your money while scammers collect the rest. It is not a full service bank anymore. There is no service.

It’s just a thing.

Getting away

I love vacation. I know it seems silly that here I am, a retiree, and I love vacation. It is just the idea of being someplace else for a little while that doesn’t require you to clean or wash it. Some place where I ask for things and they appear. In other words, not home.

The hubby and I went to Diamond Beach below Wildwood for nine days as a Christmas gift from my son who is not a shopper but knows what we like. The hotel was called the Icona. We’d been past it many times in our forays to the island. The room was nicely appointed but the balcony view of the beach and sea was stunning. Dramatically colored sunrises and sunsets that change the ocean color from pink to gold to blue were visible from the comfort of our room. Dolphins popping out of the water for a breath of air only reinforced the idea that I was never leaving. Even the full moon put on a show by illuminating a path through the dark water. What the heck, they have the kid’s card on file!

Yeah, I do get spoiled quickly. I could’ve spent nine days on the balcony just gazing off into the surf but the husband had another agenda. He is one of those people who is up at 5am and is convinced that I also should be up. He frets about our activity of the day. Where to go?

Horror of horrors, I actually take my time getting ready. Why, we didn’t leave for breakfast until almost 8:30! Then we had to go do something…anything. I tried to convince him that nothing was open. But we still window shopped at closed stores and walked along the rolled down gates of the boardwalk stores. It did keep my spending under control and afforded a nice tan without the burning rays.

The zoo opened early. That was fun. It had been awhile since I had been. It is a long walk through the convoluting paths past critters. They rent scooters now, but I brought my own. My favorite stop was the lions. A beautiful male and female lounging in the morning sun. My least favorite was the monkeys. I’m not a fan of the vile, poop-flinging creatures.

The giraffes were cool, too. The most fun fact I know about giraffes is one I learned from an ex-keeper that I had the pleasure of working with. Did you know that a giraffe can kick the head off of a lion? That’s a heck of a defense if you ask me. And now you know…

Many of the creatures in this zoo are animals that were injured in the wild and healed but could not survive back in the wild. It’s nice to know someone has their backs.

Cape May also had some shops that opened early. We had to wait for them, but I found a shop that makes tote bags and other things out of recycled sails. My tote bag addiction forced my to unload some shillings there. I got some cool bags.

The farmer’s market on Saturday was good. I bought wine.

Back at the room, one of the amenities that I really enjoyed were the little bottles of stuff that they give you. The conditioner and lotion rocked. The lip balm with SPF was awesome! I never thought to pack that! And yes, there was a mint on the pillow.

While I would heartily recommend the Icona for lodging, eat elsewhere. The breakfast buffet was lukewarm scrambled eggs, cold pancakes but some excellent sausage. Bagel Time Café offers a great selection of breakfast fare with amazing specials that won’t break the bank. Dinners on site at the hotel are pricey but scant. Head for the Crest tavern, 2 Mile Landing or the Salty Mermaid for more affordable and delicious options.

I’m home now but miss the frolicking dolphins. I wonder if they would fit in my pool?

Home improvements are a great thing when they are done. Not so much when they are in the “doing” phase. Especially when you’re doing it yourself.

My hubby undertook the challenge of redoing the ceiling in the kitchen and dining room. Granted, it should have been done long ago when a tropical storm uprooted some shingles and leaked onto said ceiling, but I was happy that it was finally happening.

As expected, there was some initial layout for wood, stain, and the obvious need for a new power tool. In this case, it was a nail gun. Now some wives might be miffed about that but I am of the opinion that if it makes the job easier, go for it! Nothing is happier than a man with a new power tool.

I braced myself for the mess. It was pretty tolerable until the Saturday of the great insulation fiasco.

Nothing prepared me for that.

It began at 5:30 in the morning as hubby prepped for a run to Home Depot. He had decided to use blow in insulation and the store rented the blowers on a first come, first served basis. At least he didn’t camp out. The day before, he came home with several bales of insulation and had several bags of recovered insulation from the demolition of the old ceiling. So all that was needed was the blower.

He was in place at 6:00 a.m. when the doors opened. The rest of the world was waiting for Avenger: The Endgame tickets. Hubby had to get an insulation blower! Needless to say, he scored his prize. For the record, many moviegoers left disappointed when shows were sold out.

At home, he had everything set up and ready to go by 7:30. Enter me. My job was to turn the blower on and off, while he directed the flow. I was stationed outside by the blower, he was several feet away in the area where the dining room meets the kitchen.

At the first “OK”, things went fairly well. It became necessary to mush the insulation into the blower which required turning off, mushing, and turning it back on. My job started to get complicated.

Hubby, meanwhile, was on a ladder. Dressed in long sleeves, jeans, goggles and a N95 mask, he was hoisting the blower hose into the ceiling. He’d yell or hand signal me. I would handle the blower switch. Seems like it should work well…

The insulation is quite puffy like dry snow. As the blower blew, the ceiling blew back. Insulation went in, insulation came out and flew everywhere. As we moved to spaces in between the rafters, the procedure repeatedly produced a blizzard of insulation all over the kitchen and dining area. Eventually, hubby moved over far enough that I could neither see nor hear him. (Remember, I’m next to a blower). So I stuck my head in the door to get a visual on him.

This also increased the time for me to get back to and turn off the blower creating white out conditions and a hubby screaming “STOP “ and making “stop” gestures violently.

By the time all was said and done…
My kitchen and everything in it, covered or not, was coated in insulation. I am working on restoring that a bit at a time. Washing every dish, fork, knife, etc until I regain my kitchen (uninsulated).

My hubby looked like a steam punk yeti with the googles and mask. He was coated with insulation making his hair not only grey, but puffy too. The sweatshirt and jeans blended into one another. He looked every bit the B rated movie prop. Since he’s always cold, it may not have been a bad idea.

The dog will never leave the bedroom again.

As for me, well, the blower blew and churned in this open top hooper. Did I mention that we had sustained breezes of 14 mph? I learned to hold my breath for extended periods of time. I could pearl dive now with no problem. However, I am still sneezing up insulation.

The story SHOULD end there. But the blower had too go back to Home Depot…in my car. My driver’s seat is now insulated from hubby’s wardrobe. The headrest is insulated from his hair. I refuse to look in the back. I just won’t do it until I’ve had a chance to stop hacking up grey matter and have had sufficient wine to stabilize the emotional impact of more insulation.

Bob Villa made it look so easy.

My Miss America Voyage

First off, I am not a pageant person.

I have never been in or aspired to be a pageant person. I’m short, round, have no outstanding talent and I just do not have that mindset. My Mom, however, would’ve been delighted to see me in an evening gown strolling down the runway to Bert Parks crooning “There she is…”. Yeah, I’m that old.

Besides Miss Americas, back in the day, were sort of boring to the pre-teen me. The blonde, willowy, beehived, smiling lass who wanted to be the best wife and mother and always wanted to use her crown to promote world peace. We see how far that got us.

My Mom would stay up long after I went to bed to see who would capture the coveted crown. For the younger of you, Miss America was nearly marathon in length with the winner crowned around midnight or later.

Fast forward a lot of years…

I’m in a group of business women. I meet Mary. Mary is a director for one of the local competitions that feed the Miss Pennsylvania competition. She asks me to judge. Why not? It’s a pretty unique thing to add to your resume. Do it once and I got a unique set of credentials.

Much to my amazement, the women I saw in the competition were all shapes, ethnicities, and all had educational backgrounds that looked like they were aiming for the Oval Office. Some had already started nonprofit organizations to promote their platforms!

This was not my Mother’s pageant at all.

No one mentioned world peace.

They all too busy actively correcting issues like bullying, suicide, medical issue awareness, hunger, and other major situations. They were choosing topics that they had passion for, and were making a difference. None of this “someday” stuff, they were doing it now!

Well, I went on to judge again the following year. After that, I became a Judge’s Chair. Meaning, I taught new judges how to judge and get the paperwork right. I got to help the overseers from State to be sure everything went smoothly.

Meanwhile, Mary, figuring that I had become sufficiently addicted to the program, asks me if I wanted to do a pageant to send more people to Miss Pennsylvania. That is where the Miss Neshaminy Valley competition took hold. I never saw it coming. Luckily, Mary and I work together to get as many candidates to Miss Pennsylvania as we can.

Local competitions are something worth seeing. It’s like a mini Miss America complete with talent and evening gown. We used to have swimsuit but that has gone the way of the beehive. The spotlight is on the person and the platform. If you can find one in your area, go. Tickets are usually low in cost and the excitement is usually palpable. The talent portion alone makes the trip worthwhile.

So yeah, somehow I got hooked. But somehow the tide turned and my opinions went from “cattle show” to “talent showcase”. The women I meet shock me every year with their energy and accomplishments in the face real problems. They are making real solutions. Somehow, I did get to be in Miss America. Maybe not striding down the runway, but helping others to get there.

Who knows, maybe someday, there will be world peace.

 

Eyebrows, am I right?

Never in the history of mankind has there been so much fuss over eyebrows.

Once I did hear that they frame the face. Is that why there is every conceivable grooming product for them? Not only do we have specialized tweezers, (pointy or straight or a funky combination of the two) but we have a plethora of customized razors, gels and other products to keep brows from getting out of hand.

I recently bought a Flawless Brow. When I opened the package, it held a device that resembles a pen lite with a cap. Under the cap was an itty-bitty little round electric razor head. By itty-bitty, I mean about half the size of my pinky nail. Who knew they could make them so small? Not only that, but it lights up like a pen lite so you can see those stray hairs that threaten to bring down civilization as we know it.

It works. It has to. It’s a razor and it cuts hair. It does choke up a bit on longer shards of eyebrow. The directions say it works best on hair that is one quarter inch long or less. Judging the hair length is a bit challenging to me since I use a 10X magnifying mirror. Everything looks like a tree stump. So now I am committed to the brow maintenance regimen that keeps my brows “flawless “.

My eyebrows have very different personalities. Miss Right is mild mannered and stays in the lines. If all eyebrows were like Miss Right, there would bankrupt eyebrow care companies everywhere! Miss Left is a completely different story. It is an entirely rogue eyebrow. It wants to be the rebel in every way. Brush the brow to the left and the hair points down. Brush the strands up and all hell breaks loose. Attempts to corral the wayward feature have been futile until recently. Thank heavens it never took on the caterpillar type quality that older men sport, nor has it attempted to march over and join Miss Right in a show of eyebrow solidarity. Nor has it left the building leaving me to artfully sketched brown rainbows on my face or visit a parlor to have them permanently affixed. But Miss Left is frustrating in her own right.

Enter Wunder2brow. It’s sort of the Clint Eastwood of eyebrow land. It shows up and maintains law and order in a lawless brow. You sort of paint it on like nail polish, then brush it with the enclosed mascara like wand. BOOM! The restless brow hairs line up and lie low. The grays are tinted and sparse spots are covered. Like Magic!! Miss Right gets a dab too. For as good as she is, she has a few gray strands popping up. It’s ok, we can’t be perfect all of the time.

Eyebrow fads are another source of concern. Some fadists insist that they be pencil thin. Plucked to within an inch of their lives. No wonder so many brows decided to quit and never return. Super thin brows leave the wearer looking very surprised by everything! On the other end of the spectrum are the super thick, heavy eyebrows. You know the ones that could get tangled in your bangs and never let go. No, thanks. I choose middle ground on this. A nice medium, brown, well behaved brow is a real goal. There are YouTube channels and websites dedicated to achieving the perfect brow. Really!

Who knew the perfect eyebrow would become a priority in my life?

Makes you “wunder “.