After 31 years, you think you know your face. You’re comfortable with it, you know how to take care of it, you’ve come to a sort of uneasy peace with the way it’s arranged.
31 years, and then one day, it turns on you.
It’s not the ever expanding wrinkles. It’s not the weird brown spots that aren’t freckles but you tell yourself they’re freckles because you don’t want to admit that they’re actually the beginnings of liver spots. Nor is it even the pores that are enlarging at such an alarming rate you’re worried they are actually tiny black holes that will end up sucking in your entire face.
No, the ultimate betrayal is none of these.
It is chin hair.
Truly, the most offensive thing a face could ever do is grow a chin hair. Or in my case, multiple chin hairs.
In my younger days a chin hair was a novelty. I would occasionally find one, have a good chuckle, yank it out with some tweezers, and go on about my day. But now, at my advancing age, the chin hairs have taken on a more sinister air… They are becoming more and more frequent. Closer together. I am about 30 chin hairs away from growing a full out granny beard.
How??? Why face??? Why??? Oh I know I went to bed without washing you sometimes, and possibly rubbed you against some unsavory characters in my younger wilder days, but is that any reason to do this to me??? We’ve had some good years, haven’t we? I’ve treated you right, rubbed you with wrinkle creams and massaged you with the good Mary Kay soap. I don’t deserve this!
Pretty soon I’m going to be able to macrame my chin hairs and sell them at craft shows. It might be fun and I could make a little extra money. The other day I tried to pull one out with my fingernails and ended up making it curly like a ribbon on a fancy present. It’s an outrage.
At what point do I just have to admit defeat and have my husband teach me how to shave with his straight razor? “Mandy, is that razor burn?” “What? No! Of course not! That’s ridiculous! It’s a hickey. I ran into a door. I burned myself with my curling iron. God, don’t look at me! I’m hideous!!! Whaaaa!!!” And then I run away screaming into the night.
Perhaps it would be more dignified to just go with it… Grow out my granny beard. It might make me look smarter and more interesting. I could thoughtfully stroke my chin hairs as I solve mysteries or philosophize.
Maybe I’ll invent a catch phrase like, “And that’s the way the chin hairs wobble.” Okay, okay, I know that’s a terrible one, but chin hair catch phrases are super hard to come up with. Seriously, if you come up with one post it in my comments section. I’m going to need those catch phrases when I no longer have the strength to fight and I end up having to join a circus.
I hope that when I do, you’ll all come visit me and bring me beads to thread upon my Guinness World Record award winning chin hairs. I mean, if I am to be cursed with them I might as well have big dreams for them.
Have a great week everyone, and “may your chin hairs ever go unnoticed.” No, that wasn’t a good catch phrase either? Eh, I’ll get it eventually.