One of my friends related a story to me the other day about a young woman she recently observed in the ladies’ room.

It appeared that this young woman was agitated and stewing in front of the mirror by the sinks.  She kept complaining, muttering to herself that she kept muttering that she was “doing eyebrow pencil wrong” and her eyebrows looked “hideous.”

To look at her, my friend said, there was nothing obviously “wrong.”  Everything to the observer looked very right in place: hair, clothing, jewelry, lipstick, including the eyebrows.

Perfect, in fact.

So, what was the fuss and bother about looking so outwardly perfect?  Is that where beauty matters?

Where does real beauty remain?  Where does it lie, really?

©2022, excerpt from “Dear Colleagues”