Once upon a time, I played in a Bunco club. I was new in town, and it gave me a chance to meet people and get out. At Christmas, we invited our husbands to be a part of the Bunco night. My husband was bemused by the evening. He knew most of the people there, and he was making the rounds as we ate some form of King Ranch Chicken. We ended up in the kitchen together trying to find the dessert plates. He smiles at me and I’m smiling. We are having a little moment together, and then his gaze drops to my chin. He says (rather loudly), “What is that?” To my horror, he is pointing at my chin. “What are you talking about?” I say softly, trying to shush him and stay calm.
“You have a chin hair!” he exclaims. Now I do shush him. “Quit talking about it!” I say. “Well, we have to pull it!” he says. “No!” I whisper, “Keep it down!” “What else are you going to do? You can’t just leave it!” I am mortified as I see his hand reaching out. “Not Here!” I whisper loudly. Finally he piped down and left me alone. He just had this twinkle in his eyes the rest of the night.
Later, I examined the disaster on my chin. My phone was sitting there on the bathroom counter so I texted my sister about it. Her response: “Welcome to your 30’s.” “What did you do with it?” I replied. “Rip it out,” she said. So I did. It didn’t come back. Well, for like 3 months.
I’ve adjusted. The shock is over. Now I just rip it out. I think things like, “At least there’s only one.”
Isn’t life change and aging hilarious? I wish we laughed more about it. Laughing is so much more fun than surgery, botox, creams, and peels. We all go through it. What if chin hair was a rite of passage instead of an embarrassing dinner discovery?
Laugh away. Rip it out. Move on. We have better things to worry about.