It’s hard enough accepting the gray hairs that are sprouting like unwelcome weeds amongst the chestnut crop of my hair. But the indignity of age marches south like Sherman, settling on my chin in the form of the occasional whisker.
For such a plucky word, whiskers are mortifying. I used to run into them once in a blue moon when I felt something amiss while stroking my chin. Now I studiously examine my chin whenever I’m washing my face, hoping to nip a new whisker in the bud. They probably aren’t noticeable to anyone other than me, but who the hell cares? I don’t want to acknowledge that my hormones are serving me up a side dish of crone to go with my aging gracefully entrée.
It may be natural, but it’s just not right.
Instead of taking it on the chin like the juicy 40-something gal that I am, I am going to keep patrolling my face for any signs of a prickly chin weed. And then I’m going to mow that motherplucker down any way I can. To paraphrase that old adage, the grass is always greener on the other side…of a laser hair removal treatment.(photo: thestuff.nakatomiinc.com)