The area in question is relatively small. Two by one centimeters to be exact. About the size of two shirt buttons set side-by-side.

It is comprised of matter that is common and plain, making it, by itself, common and plain. But its location, its placement, makes this otherwise ordinary area different, noticeable, fixating. But in a bad way. It stands out. Something about it doesn’t fit. Makes it look huge and weird. Yet it sits right where it is supposed to sit – where it always has – doing what it is supposed to do, no more out of position than a bar on Lackawanna Avenue. Something about this area is off-putting though; as much as a trailer park would be popping up in Aurora Heights. Something about it is ugly.

At least that’s what a fancy hairdresser told me (in so many words) recently while she gave me what amounted to a $27 High and Tight (had never been to her before; left arm went numb when I heard the price; recovered; asked if I could have my hair back). My unibrow was the area in question, the one she was dogging. More specifically my unibridge, that rugged wisp, two-buttons wide, connecting the hairy ridgelines above the eyes to form a continental divide – the unibrow proper – across the face. She said I should wax mine. That it would bring out my eyes. Just Nair it away, she says. This woman clearly underestimated the importance of the patch.