The Thin Blue Line(s)

As occasionally occurs during my infrequent altered-state escapades, I stumbled upon and subsequently became industrial-strength-glued to a programme of, shall we say, questionable interest.

The programme in question was "The Dark Side of Fame with Piers Morgan". Essentially, it boiled down to a face-to-face interview with ex-Baywatch star and walking chest-juggernaut Pamela Anderson, inter cut with the occasional bollocks-spiel from Hugh Hefner and Piers's chums.

It was curiously involving, as most things which contain the human element tend to be. Yet, for all that, I found myself intermittently distracted by Pamela's... hmm, how do I put this... 'pencil eyebrows' (yes, that should suffice).

In my adult life I've struggled to understand why ladies decide to pencil-eyebrow their face: are they dissatisfied with the eyebrows they were born with? I can understand if said eyebrows were shaped into the letter H and were hairier than a Scotsman's under-nad hair, but I doubt that's the case.

So why... ? For GOD'S SAKE WHY?!

OK, I'll be frank: when I was a teenager, pencil-eyebrows or not, Pamela Anderson was just aboot the hottest life-form on the planet. She was basically the embodiment of blond perfection: perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect face, perfect hair, perfect chest. And man could she run in slow motion really well. But I was a teenager and completely enamoured with the female form. So much so that a walking sex doll with a pulse was all I could ever dream of to satisfy my immense sexual want.

I'm 28 now. My feelings have changed 'somewhat'. Pencil eyebrows now look tacky to me, they look macabre and otherworldly--like still life brought to life. It doesn't make you look human, it makes you look like a human plaything; a sex toy with limbs. Er.

I'm deeply sorry if there are any ladies reading this who have pencil eyebrows. No, I really am. But understand I'm simply giving my honest thoughts on this matter--as a man, and a connoisseur of the female species--insomuch as my immediate reaction to the aforementioned pencil eyebrowdom. If it makes you feel any better: my eyebrows are fairly thick and hang above my eyes ominously, like demonic archways of eye-lugging doom. Or something.

But yes, discuss. Or want to kill me. And/or.

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A hilarious incident occurred late this afternoon. I was gallivanting up some steps in order to reach the DVD store before it shut, and as I passed some college girls (who each eyed me with varying levels of amiable doe-eyedness) I lost control of my legs, tripped over and had to break my fall with my hands. Expecting laughter I was instead greeted with a "OMG are you OK?" to which I hurriedly replied in a pseudo Keanu Reeves type way "Yes. Thanks". I then continued on my way.

It is funny how things change: a few years back I would have been embarrassed by this incident; but no longer anymore. I walked away, reflected on the incident, and grinned. It was quite funny--I had played the part of 'some guy' falling over unexpectedly, and I had played it well. Maybe the girls thought I was drunk, or worse, disabled (in reality I was simply physically knackered after a hard day's labour)--in any case, it mattered nowt. It was amusing to me, and no doubt to them too. Basically, we all win (won).