For today, rather than let the drought continue, I am going to heat up some leftovers for you. The post below was featured as a guest post on Speaking From the Crib, one year ago. It's a fave because it's a totally true story and something that I am still battling today (though I am winning the war). Enjoy. And I hope to be back to visit all of your blogs soon!
ONE TREE CHIN
Look, nobody said that getting older was glamorous, but chin hair? Really? For about five years now, I have been doing battle with a foe so evil, so vile, that I live in a constant state of alert for its reappearance. I’m talking about my chin hair and it’s a doozie. Yes, I said chin hair. Singular.
Now some of you are going to read this and say “Be-yotch, have you lost your damn mind complaining about one little chin hair? I sit up in this electrolysis chair weekly with some angry hermaphrodite zapping me with rads or whatever and you are complaining about one lonely chin hair? “And you would be justified to say that, except, this is no ordinary hair. This is a super hair.
Super in what way? Well I’ll tell you. Besides having a sweet-ass CD collection and a vacation condo in
Aruba, this is one BIG freaking hair. It is not so much a hair as it is a tree, lovingly planted on my chin by the hands of time. Let me tell you the story of how we met . . .
About five years ago, I was laid off from the company where I had worked for eighteen years.Suddenly, I was thrust out into the uncomfortable world of job interviews (aka brown nosing and groveling) without any real practice. One morning I rolled up on an Eyeglass Manufacturer who was looking for a Business Analyst for their manufacturing system. Dressed in my best ugly interview suit, I did a quick rearview mirror check for spinach in the teeth and what do I see in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun? A half inch long chin hair. Cripes man! It was just waving in the wind. How did I not ever see this before? Giving its length, it had to be cultivating for a while and someone was force feeding it Miracle Gro.
Utterly unprepared for the cosmetic challenge I had before me, I tried to pull the hair out with my fingers. Let me just say that without the laser beam precision and gripping power of a tweezers, this is no easy feat. I pulled and tugged and pinched and yanked, but it kept slipping out of my grip. Finally after about 10 minutes of wrestling with it, it came out, PAINFULLY. This thing had more roots than Pam Anderson between touch-ups. Double checking the mirror, I could see that there was no longer a hair there, but there was a nickel sized circle of angry red skin from all my pulling. Undaunted, I marched into that interview and gave my best dog and pony show.
Did I get the job? No, but I did get what was to be the beginning of a five year war with the hair on my chin. Let me tell you a little something about chin hair . . . it’s mutable. It will change its texture, color, length on a whim. Back then, it was fine in texture and a soft brown color. Today, it is a big, wide tree stump of a hair, but it has grayed (bonus!), so I don’t see it as easily, I have to rely on feeling. If I run my hand over my chin and sustain a flesh wound, it’s time to pluck. Pretty, I know.
There is an upside to this story and that is that it never brought any more friends to the party. It is a solitary hair and does not wish to share the real estate with anyone else. And I am truly thankful for its greedy, anti-social behavior.
As a delightful post script to this story, I found out through the grapevine that the girl that got the job at the eyewear manufacturer was a former coworker of mine. Her last name? Chin. I wish I were kidding. I’m not.