There’s a quirky little hair that sprouts from a mole on my chin. At various times of the year, or when I’ve been a bit lax with my grooming routine, this hair seems to invite its friends over, creating a small colony of chin hair that’s impossible to ignore. During those moments, you can find me in my brightly lit bathroom, with incense burning and a determined look in my eyes, furiously plucking away at these rebellious strands. Without swift action, I might just morph into a modern-day bearded lady.
The challenge with mole hairs—much like any other unwanted hair—is that they must reach a certain length before you can effectively remove them. Whether you choose to wax or tweeze, it’s a bitter truth that they need to be visible enough for you to grasp. And if you can see them, you can bet that others can too.
There’s a peculiar satisfaction in pulling out a stubborn chin hair, akin to the joy of popping a pimple. I’m often astonished by just how long these wiry black strands can become, lurking beneath the surface like an iceberg in the ocean of my face. In contrast, my eyebrow hairs are a feebler breed. They are fine and light, often requiring a magnifying glass and a steady hand to extract. There’s little joy in removing them compared to the robust satisfaction from my chin hair. Honestly, I would rather have curly pubic hair as eyebrows than the limp fuzz that occasionally takes residence above my eyes!
It wasn’t until my mid-20s that a flamboyant stylist named Marcus, with his vibrant fashion choices, pointed out the sad state of my eyebrows. “Your eyebrows stop halfway across your eyes!” he exclaimed, aghast. “Did you know you only have half an eyebrow?” He looked genuinely perplexed, adding, “You should really do something about that. Buy an eyebrow pencil.”
Buy a pencil? I discovered he didn’t mean an eyeliner (which took ages to scrub off). Once I finally understood, my new eyebrow pencil became my trusty companion, saving my face from further embarrassment.
Shortly after, the chin hair made its grand entrance. Perhaps it had been lurking in the shadows, a lighter version of its future self. Once it realized I was enhancing my eyebrows, it boldly transformed into a thick bristle and made itself known. For over 15 years, it has valiantly battled my tweezers and, more often than not, emerged victorious.
After I became a mother, I also discovered an odd phenomenon: a few long hairs on the back of my thighs. Not a dense jungle, but two or three impressively long strands that seem to be making a slow march down my legs. They feel like rogue hairs attempting to escape their designated area—just another peculiar side effect of motherhood.
Despite the annoyance, I find a strange admiration for my chin hair. Its resilience and tenacity deserve recognition. No matter how many times I pluck it, it just keeps coming back—the Dory of hairs, the little chin hair that could.
Maybe I should pen a tale about it. Oh wait—I just did!
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In summary, navigating the quirks of unwanted hair can be both challenging and humorous. From chin hairs to eyebrow struggles, these little idiosyncrasies add to the tapestry of our lives, reminding us to embrace the imperfections that make us unique.