My 10-year-old son Ben sat patiently, as I got my hair cut. He appeared to be playing on his phone, but it soon became apparent that he was also listening.

After finishing up and paying, as we walked to the car, young Ben remarked, “You apologize a lot about your eyebrows.”

Yes son, indeed I do. Not that they are freak-like, hideous, or even ugly, it’s just that they get bushy. Very bushy. And as I age, the bushiness has become more pronounced. Yes, random hairs now dangerously (some would say boldly) stick out. Unless they are tamed, standing too close to me sometimes requires goggles.

Oh and I have tried to trim them myself, but the attempts never look right, always awkwardly short. I have tried to pluck the wayward hairs, but there’s always one to take the place of one just plucked. No, professional assistance is best. And those professionals deserve an apology.

I probably am not an unusual case. Many probably suffer from similar bushiness, but I have never heard another request for such treatment.

So there you have it, you now know my silent suffering. An ailment that is only discussed in the shamefully whispered requests under a barber’s shears.