I was in the bathroom plucking my eyebrows which, let's face it, a good many of us are wont to do.
Enter: Eva, my six year old daughter.
"Ooooh, Mommy!", she says, with a deep look of concern on her face and obvious worry in her voice (she can be quite compassionate). "Do you have a sliver in your face?!"
"No, sweetheart." I say suppressing a little giggle.
"Then why are you using the thing that takes out slivers?"
"These are tweezers and I'm just plucking my eyebrows."
So I explain (still plucking). "Well, basically, it's when you pull out little hairs."
"You PULL them OUT?!!"
I stop. I look at her beautiful, shocked little face and I think, Should I tell her? Should I tell her that chances are, with the generous eyebrow genes bestowed upon her by both her father and her mother, she, too, may very well choose to 'pluck' someday? Should I tell her that not only is she likely to pluck, but as a woman it is very probable that she will voluntarily partake in various tedious, inconvenient, uncomfortable and down-right painful grooming practices all in the name of beauty?
No. This is not a conversation I want to have right now.
So I smile a big warm smile and teasingly pinch the tweezers at her and say, "Do you want me to pluck one of your hairs?".
"No!" she says, laughing.
Then, with the previous conversation flitting out of her innocent mind, she bounds joyfully and freely out of the bathroom as, truly, only a six year old can.