Once upon a time a friend very quietly asked Fruity if she may be able to recommend a waxer.

Of course, she said, hurling her wondeful waxer’s number at him. (Yes, him, because men need waxing too. Women aren’t the only ones with lymph nodes and organs that need warmth and protection.)

And then Fruity took a gamble. She emailed her friend again and suggested that maybe, and she sincerely hoped no offence would be taken, because you know, a good friend looks out for good friends, and honestly and sincerely want them to look their very best at all times, even if that means trudging through moments of extreme and violent awkwardness, she suggested that maybe, maybe he might like to ask her to tidy up his brows, just a teeeeeny bit.

A teeeeny tiny bit that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone, and yet everyone would notice something, because his face would look somehow more handsome. And that men shouldn’t be afraid to ask for a very subtle clean up if they have wild brows, because their brows won’t look feminine and over-manicured, no, not by a long shot no, just neater and more handsome.

And he laughed at Fruity and said he usually did get them done and was going to anyway and then Fruity felt like a tool but when she saw his brows after they were done and saw what a magnificent little change they made, she felt less tool-like and more excellent-like because even if it weren’t her idea, he now looked great and that made her felt great.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.