For a fun-filled and relaxing experience, there is nothing in this universe as enjoyable like having half of your face ripped off. Voluntarily. I realize that some members of the opposite sex may not understand this and shake their heads in disbelief that anybody of sane mind would willingly undergo this procedure, but in some ways, men and women are polar opposites. It's what makes the world go around.

I knew that yesterday, after a long day of offer negotiations and yakking on my cell about short sale listings, I would be treating myself to a half-hour of pure torture at The Perfect Eyebrow in Sacramento. It was my very own pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

You see, Saturdays are also the designated day to collect my lockboxes. The freeways aren't as crowded as during business hours. I keep track of my closings for the week and put together a schedule to drive from one house to the next to pick up my lockboxes. I suppose I could hire somebody to do this for me, but I'm basically a one-woman real estate show.

As I drove out Highway 50, my cell rang. It was a guy who owns a rental in East Sacramento and wants to sell it. From the street address, I pretty much knew what the home looked like and how much it was worth, but I promised to stop by on my way back to check it out for him.

At the first home, I discovered the key was left in the lockbox. This closed several days ago. The buyer's agent was out of town and had turned over her business to an associate. This made me wonder if the buyer even knew it closed. I quickly sent an email to both of these agents to let them know where I left the key.

At the next home, the new buyer came around the corner and startled me. In fact, I screamed. I guess he was wondering what this woman was doing tinkering around with his gas meter. It gave me a chance to say "Welcome to the neighborhood," and then I wondered why I said that since I actually knew very little about that particular neighborhood. As a Sacramento short sale agent, I sell homes all over Sacramento, but I am not an expert in all neighborhoods like I am in Land Park and East Sacramento. I simply know how to list and sell short sales.

By the time I reached the rental in East Sacramento, the clock was ticking. Not much time left before my anticipated appointment at The Perfect Eyebrow. The tenants were not home, save for a yapping dog inside. Great. I like nothing better than taking listings where agents need to give a 24-hour notice than selling a home where pets live. The redeeming factor was the note on the door that asked visitors to remove their shoes upon entering. That could possibly mean that the hardwood floors were well maintained.

A cat sat on the sidewalk watching me. I backed slowly into the street to avoid being run over and to snap a photo with my video camera. The cat meowed at me, so I stopped to pet her, and considered the fact that I really should carry more dog and cat treats in my bag. Usually I have a supply of pet treats in my briefcase, part of my real estate arsenal, along with a flashlight and graphite. But I had left my briefcase at home.

I looked at the clock and realized I had but 15 minutes to make my way over to Howe and University / Fair Oaks. This is one of the worst intersections in Sacramento, second maybe to Watt and Fair Oaks, but on Saturday it wasn't that jammed. The Perfect Eyebrow is a new business, situated just north of the Safeway store.

The salon has tile floors, featuring a long red streak in the middle, which I guess is supposed to be an eyebrow. Individual stations are set up at the back but they are open with no privacy. This means anybody wandering through the parking lot could watch through the windows as faces are tweezed, ripped and patted, which didn't bother me but another patron might not care for it.

Although most of the customers seemed to be brides-to-be. I guess they have enough other stuff to worry about than whether some gawker is staring at them.

My stylist, I'm not sure what you call her, led me to a chair and suggested I lean back and relax. Easy for her to say. She wasn't about to have her face ripped off. This would have been a good time to hand me a glass of champagne but it wasn't that kind of salon. The stylist fussed with the lighting. It wasn't quite right for her. Just as I was about to suggest that she should wear one of those hiking headbands with a light, like guys in the coal mines used to wear, she applied hot wax to the underside of my eyebrow, waited a few seconds and then tore it off. Her cool finger on that spot was a relief.

She trimmed and brushed my eyebrow hairs. Being part Hungarian, I suppose, is what gives me such wild and woolly eyebrows. They sprong wherever they want to go. I never thought much about my eyebrows until I cut off all my hair. Now they are the focus of my face.

While she was at it, she may as well do my entire face. Little spots of hot wax and let 'er rip. Over and over. Somebody should have been rubbing my feet at this point. That would have been a welcome distraction.

For the final touch, I had my eyebrows tinted. It wasn't so much the electrolysis from the 1980s that made my eyebrows so thin -- although my stylist said electrologists don't do eyebrows anymore because styles change --  as it was all the white hairs that I could not see. Once those hairs turned brown, my eyebrows reappeared. Just like that. Magic.

When she handed me the mirror, I could not believe my eyes. My eyebrows were totally transformed. They had an arch. They looked completely normal. I made 2 more appointments. Turned on my cell and discovered I had missed a call from my husband. He called from a They Might Be Giants show in the Midwest.  So, who do you think was having more fun at that moment?  Him or me?