Hair Apparent

courtesy of http://www.thehumanmarvels.com

Holy Shit, I thought, as I peered into the mirror.  Is that a…no, it can’t be…I told myself.  But sure enough, it was.  I was the owner of a chin hair, and a long one, to boot. I mean if there had been two others just like it, I could have braided them.  Then I thought, how in the HELL had not come to my attention before it was a foot long.  Oh, I know, it’s because I can’t see shit close up anymore.  And thank God, it wasn’t a dark one, but I did, for a moment at least, wonder how many people had seen it.  I am vain like that, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

And aren’t your friends supposed to tell you when you have a chin hair a mile long sticking out of your face?  I’m just going to chalk that up to my friends are lots older than me and they can’t see anything either.  I should really get a younger friend that can point this stuff out to me.  But, then I’d have to deal with the jealousy I’d feel because of her younger, youthful appearance.  I really can’t see a way out of this quandary.

This getting older stuff is for the birds and it is definitely not for the faint of heart.  You’ve gotta be one tough biatch to take this crap.  You would think that having four kids, two at the same time, would have prepared me for this, but it didn’t.  Deep down in my heart, I still feel like that young 22 year-old fun loving girl.  But, I’m constantly reminded that girl is long gone every time I step out of the shower and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

In addition to hair growing in places it shouldn’t, you have to deal with all the gray hairs. Every eight weeks, I’m reminded I’m not a young brunette anymore.  Nope I’m really the skunk lady.  You know the chick with the stripes of gray down both sides of her head. Luckily, I ‘m saved by St. Christy, Patron of Beauty. I probably owe that woman a lot more than I pay her. And then there are the gray ones that you can’t/don’t want to dye, but thankfully not a lot of people see those.

One time I had a gift certificate for a spa day, and I was supposed to get some kind of salt scrub, but I didn’t want to get naked with a lady I had just met, so I opted for things I could have done that didn’t require me to take my clothes off.  I thought I was being smart opting for waxing, to save myself from hours of plucking errant facial hairs.  Boy was I wrong — it probably would have been more pleasant to just pour gasoline on my head and light a match.

This all reminded me of the time I walked in on my Grandma using an electric razor on her face.  Apparently the incident was so traumatic for me, I had blocked it out of my memory until now.  There are just some things small children shouldn’t see, and if I had known then what I know now, I probably would have jumped right off the balcony outside of Grandma’s bathroom.

After the chin and lip waxing ordeal, Grandma’s electric razor doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Getting old shouldn’t have to suck and be painful.