I’ll never forget when my grandmother, Betsy, was sick in the hospital. She was [insanely] concerned about the hairs on her chin and needed someone (my mom, if memory serves correctly) to be sure those hairs were eradicated.
It’s not that I didn’t understand the vanity. I got that.
What I didn’t understand was how she could have enough whiskers to care about. I mean, I never noticed any. And yes, I see the irony. And what I also didn’t realize was that it can happen to the best of us.
So Nana, I’m sorry for being all judgey. And I sure hope that those evil thoughts aren’t the actual reason that I now have chin hairs.
Oh crap. Did I really write that on my blog?
Yes, I suppose that I did.
I don’t have ‘get the shaving cream and razor’ kind of chin hairs, but I do get the ‘where the heck did that long, black, wiry thing come from’ kind of hairs. I swear they grow over night.
Look. I have a great pair of tweezers. It’s fine. But what I don’t have is great close-up vision. So on the occasions that I am wearing my glasses and lean in to see myself in the magnifying mirror, it’s cause for alarm. HOW COULD I NOT HAVE SEEN THOSE THINGS? SERIOUSLY?
And let’s top that off with why didn’t my beloved husband see them? Why would he not have told me? Why wouldn’t he have plucked those suckers himself to save me the embarrassment of walking around like that? Oh wait, maybe he doesn’t see so well, either. (He is getting ready to turn 54. Just saying.)
Is ignorance bliss?
I say, no. Not in this case. I don’t want to be that crazy old coot who doesn’t know she has long, black hairs coming off her face. So friends, if you were wondering if you should mention it, the answer is yes. Together, we can keep this epidemic under control.