During high school I made it a top priority to gain the ability to lift one eyebrow.
The endeavor was not an easy one. I had to train like a fine athlete, brushing wimpy quitter thoughts from my psyche. I started out using the ability that I did have and built my skill from there: raising two eyebrows, but holding the left one down by force with my finger. I did this as I walked down hallways in between classes. In P.E. while waiting to dodge a red, rubber ball. Anytime something boring was happening in class. So you see, I had plenty of opportunity to practice.
After a grueling training regimen I learned to isolate the muscle beneath my right eyebrow and have enjoyed the ability to soundlessly signal my amusement ever since.
But with great power comes great responsibility. Or something.
I have raised one eyebrow often over the years since I have been in high school, and the skill has not come without a price. Ladies and gentlemen, I have extra wrinkles over my right eyebrow and am now destined to be a little old lady with asymmetrical face wrinkles. A permanent mark of a lifetime of bemused stares.