I found an elephant sized hair this morning on my face, right above the right side of my top lip. It was so long, I didn’t give it time to evaluate the situation; I just grabbed it and yanked. The sucker came off with a snap and I felt a twinge. I freaked! This thing was at least a half-inch long!
Was it really connected to my face? I entertained the thought that it was glued on by my last chocolate therapy session, or maybe even drool. Nighttime drool for a married woman is easier to take than a hair growing out of her face at record speed!
Did I grow this enormous hair overnight? Or maybe it’s been that long since I really looked closely. I’ve completely let myself go, haven’t I? I mean, who really says they don’t care if they drool at night? Who says that unless they’ve given up all hope?
I must have been so severely traumatized last month by finding two tiny blonde hairs had sprouted on what used to be a cute oversized freckle that I hadn’t examined my face closely in that length of time. But how could a hair grow so fast?
And the cute freckle! The little sucker has begun its right of passage into the gnarled ‘beauty mark’ my aunt always flaunted. Anyone who calls it a beauty mark knows what it really is! A clump of pigment that people stare at when your boobs are no longer desirable. You start scaring children, disgusting men, and becoming fodder for younger women to talk about. Holy shit! That’s why everyone’s been staring at my face!
It’s a beauty mark! It’s no longer cute. It’s protruding from my face and will probably double in size within 5 years and grow black hairs. I’ve completely lost my youth and I haven’t even celebrated my thirtieth birthday yet.
I am hairy and clumpy, and I need steel reinforced bras to hold up the old gals. I might as well stop pretending that I am going to find the skin beneath the scales on my heels. I might as well throw away the makeup and just pretend I look better ‘natural.’
How is it that Madonna doesn’t look like me? Why does Joan Lunden look better than I do? These women are in their fifties! I don’t remember seeing hairs all over my mother’s face. I might as well transplant Brook Shield’s eyebrow trimmings to my chin and get it over with.
I’ve gone from maiden to matron to crone in a decade. I’m not fit for the human race.
Comments