By Mackenzie Hurlbert
I called them wooly-bears when they got out of hand. Wrapped in my towel and hovering over the sink, I plucked my way across the arc of my brow to the sensitive parts by the bridge of my nose.
My husband walked by the doorway and stopped.
“Good morning,” I said as I grasped one hair and yanked. “You slept late.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning past my naked shoulder to grab his watch from the sink. “Late night.” I turned for a kiss but he was too busy fastening it on to notice. Shifting back to the mirror, I refocused on my wooly-bears.
“That looks like it hurts,” he said.