The hardest thing about being a grown-up is decisions. I have decided that this is the hardest thing. This is the last decision I am capable of making today.
One of my coworkers tells me that his fantasy job is to have a hot dog cart on the beach where the only decisions are ketchup or mustard. I'm a vegetarian and that sounds amazing.
Sometimes my husband and I will be trying to decide what to have for dinner and he'll say "Whatever you want, baby" and that's about the only time when I want to divorce him.
I might ask my daughter what she wants to do on a Saturday and she'll give me a teenage shrug and so I'll make a decision which is then invariably disappointing and that's about the only time I want to run away (That's a lie. I'm living in Trump's America and want to run away literally all of the time).
Throughout my average working day, I'm met with "what do you think about..." or "what should we do about" roughly every 13 seconds. Of late, when I hear that, all I think is "mustard." I prefer mustard to ketchup. Of this I am abidingly certain. I may waffle, though, between spicy brown and yellow. I never say "mustard" aloud, but I am always thinking it.
I was getting a pedicure on Saturday (this is the most first world problems post ever, isn't it?) and the dude poking aggressively at my toe cuticles told me I was too sensitive when I flinched (I should find a better pedicure place but then that's just another decision and also they have a parking lot which makes it so easy) and then he asked if the pedicure was all I wanted.
"Yep," I said.
"Are you sure?" he said. "Something about your eyebrows, maybe?"
(I really should find a better pedicure place.)
Do I have to make decisions about my eyebrows now? I never thought about my eyebrows in the 80s, 90s or 00s. For some reason this decade I'm asked to start paying attention to them and my head is too full and if I agree to do "something about my eyebrows" all I'll be able to think is "mustard" and no one, no matter how gentle they are with toenail cuticles, will know how to translate "mustard" into some eyebrow shape.
I think I'll make one more decision and decide not to give a shit about my eyebrows. I wear spectacles (that's right, I said "spectacles" because I am classy) every day so who can even see my dumb eyebrows?
Mustard is superior to ketchup, tho. And your eyebrows are probably fine.
