tiny little hairs

I can't believe I had to learn about this from a man.

I read women's magazines and blogs. I write a women's blog, for heaven's sake. We hold nothing back, right?

We find it easy to tell everything we know about love, sex, love without sex, sex without love, men, menstruation, menopause, mental health, menus, recipes, weight loss/gain, careers, career equality, career moms, home school moms, young moms, old moms, choose-not-to-be-a-mom...the list goes on and on.

But apparently we keep some things to ourselves.

For example, little tiny hairs - hello?!? Why didn't you tell me? Why did I hear about them from Bill Cosby, America's Dad?

Oh, don't sit there and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about! If you are over 35, you need to just 'fess up. If you're under 35, you're forgiven, but you should take note. You'll need to know about this. Soon.

Body hair was never a problem for me before now. Most of my ancestors were pretty WASPy. From them I got red hair, pale skin, and invisible eyebrows. The rest were Native American. From them I got the ability to go long periods without shaving my legs. I would have liked a little melanin and my mom's cheekbones, but guess those weren't in the genetic cards.

Scientifically, redheads have the least hair of all the hair colors. There are lots of famous redheads now, but being redheaded in the 70s and 80s was not fashionable. I would have gladly been a little more hirsute if it meant I looked like Farrah Fawcett or Brooke Shields. It took a lot of years for me to embrace the fact that I would never look like a celebrity. (Well, maybe Kathleen Turner or Carrie Fisher - but not in the Body Heat or Jabba bikini years...phooey.)

Just when I'd made peace with my pale aging hairless body, I felt them.

Little tiny hairs...growing on my face. Just like in Bill Cosby's comedy routine. Except for women. Except...not funny!

I couldn't even see them at first. They were elusive, sneaky little buggers, taking advantage of my aging eyesight and limited dexterity.

Finally I broke down and bought a 15x magnifying mirror and a really expensive pair of tweezers. I still couldn't see them indoors, even with the mirror. I took my trusty mirror and reading glasses outside into the sunlight - bingo! Nasty black (!) hairs were springing from my chin, some of which I hadn't even felt.

I was surprised at how long some of them were. There was even one on my neck the length of a toddler hair. I wondered why no circus had recruited me to be their bearded lady. And I was thankful my husband is farsighted in more ways than one.

Nowadays, I keep my mirror and tweezers in my purse. That way I can take advantage of the sunlight in the car. When my husband drives, I gladly sit on the passenger side and do a little personal maintenance.

The first few times I did this, he was shocked. (After living with me for so long, it takes a lot to shock him.) I believe he said, "Ugh, are you going to do that where EVERYONE can see you?"

Obviously not EVERYONE could see me. Just the truck drivers cruising beside us on the interstate, and I'm sure they had way more interesting things to look at than a crazy old woman plucking facial hair in an SUV.

And obviously I couldn't give a fig if anyone saw me, because I just told everyone on a national women's website about it. I'm sure you forgive me.

As I forgive you for not telling me about this.

Just promise me there are no more nasty surprises coming up. I mean, I'm 48...what else could there be!

What was that...? Wait....are you serious?

Sigh, on second thought, maybe ignorance is bliss.