STRANGER THAN FICTION: THE EYE(BROWS) HAVE IT -- WAXING PAINFUL BUT BEAUTY ENHANCING

Lesley promised me pillows, music and a massage table. I got a sink, some wax and Hitler.

What women do to enhance their appearance is utterly ridiculous. There, I've said it.

It hit me the other day in the mall as throngs of females rushed toward clearance racks at the end-of-season sale. We all have masks we paint on every day -- different colors, different styles, but masks all the same.

Men don't do that. They might shave, they might not. But none of them spend 15 minutes minimum each morning painting on pore-clogging gook.

And then there's the hair removal. We shave our underarms and legs. We apply harsh hair solvents to our intimate areas and walk around smelly and nude for the required 15 minutes. We pluck everything else that grows up lord-knows-where. Like those weird stray hairs around the belly button and out of the chin. Where the heck do those things come from, anyway? It's like some scalp DNA escaped to my gut.

But the weirdest thing women do, and certainly the most painful, is the eyebrow wax.

Somebody, sometime, decided that women's eyebrows should be shaped a certain way. So off we go to the salon to have some masochist inflict horrendous torture on us by actually pulling out our eyebrow hairs by the roots.

I remember when the process cost $3 -- and that included the eyebrow dye for us blondes -- at Vanity's salon in Sikeston. Not anymore. Ten bucks for a five-minute process that I think the stylists use to work out their frustrations. And then we tip them for that therapy!

I remember walking into one mall-based styling shop for an eyebrow wax. There was a woman in front of me at the receptionist's counter. I couldn't see her face.

"I want my money back," the woman said.

The receptionist looked shocked. "I guess you do," he said, slowly reaching into the cash register and pulling out a crisp 10 dollar bill.

The woman took it and turned toward me. Her brows were as thin as the line a blunt eyeliner pencil might leave. And there were scabs on each side of them.

I practically ran from the salon. I mean, I've left those places unhappy with my appearance, but I've never left BLEEDING, for heaven's sake!

After that, I tried one of those home kits. They really don't work on stubborn hair. I found myself insanely reapplying the strip again and again to that pesky "unibrow" area above the bridge of my nose, determined to pull out every strand.

Later that night, The Other Half found me lying in bed holding ice cubes against various parts of my brow area. It took about a week for the irritation to subside.

So imagine my thrill when my friend Lesley told me about a great salon who did a bang-up job on her brows. Her stylist laid her on an extremely comfortable massage table, propped her knees up with pillows and played soft music during the waxing process.

Lesley's brows complement her painted-on mask quite nicely, so I asked for the stylist's card. I tried to make an appointment. That stylist wasn't available, the receptionist said, but another one was. I agreed to take the other one.

Lesley got music and pillows. I got a sink and Hitler. The woman applied the wax, applied the strip and then yelled, "ONE -- TWO ..." and then YANKED after the count of TWO! See, she didn't even get to three! And all the while I was expecting a one, two, three, YANK!

Nevermind.

The thing ended up costing me $11. And, because I'm a wimp at heart, I actually tipped her another three bucks.

It'd be so nice to let all the lunacy go. To say to the world, "I'm not putting on my mask today! Just look at my blackheads, acne scarring and scraggly eyebrows, because THAT'S ME, baby, and I ain't hiding it!"

But the pained looks on the people who saw me like that would simply be too much to bear.

So I've got another appointment with Hitler next week.