I remember when I was younger being totally grossed out by women who sprouted mustaches and chin hairs. Especially hairs growing out of moles. Yuck. "Don't they have any self respect," I would rudely and thoughtlessly think to myself.
Then in my 30's I grew my own mustache. Just after starting treatment for a thyroid disorder. It kicked my hormones into gear and sent me to the drug store for hot wax. Which I used regularly for many years until one day, the hairs just didn't grow back so much and I could use tweezers. Hot wax was a pain in the butt and sometimes painful. Cold wax just ripped the money out of my wallet without removing a single hair. And laser treatments? No way. Too expensive and not guaranteed. And they make your skin look like plastic if you have too many.
I had a bikini wax. Once. Let's just say that I now flinch at the sound of velcro being pulled. And that is all I'm going to say about that.
For a decade and a half I managed with tweezer and razor.
Until *cue dramatic crescendo*! Menopause! Somewhere inside my body a nasty little imp went running around me, pulling hair in places it was supposed to be and then pushing it out through places traditionally saved for the male gender!
On top of mood swings, hot flashes and night sweats, I had now turned into a werewolf Tressy doll, with hair coming out of many many visible inappropriate pores! Hair that laughed at my tweezers! That turned into thick and coarse armor at my razor! That would just *POP* out of nowhere while talking to the pastor or a teacher or someone else who would suddenly, quizzically look at my chin, then quickly away with that "ooooh how embarrassing" eyelid shift.
This is not fair. After spending over 40 years demon wrestling acne and finally named alternately heavyweight and mediumweight champion, here was yet another blight on my narcissistically tended appearance. Hair popping out of my chin. Noooooooo!!!
All I can do now is pluck. Since part of my acne conquering regimen involves a medical exfoliant just shy the strength of agent orange, my skin is too thin now to wax. Wax would rip the top layer clean off. Ow. Which I learned from my dermatologist just before I was about to go out and buy another hot wax kit. God watches over aging narcissists as well.
So I pluck and pluck and pluckity pluck pluck. And I hope that when I'm really really old and decrepit with eyes that don't see so well and age clumsy fingers, that one of three things will be true: 1. My son lives close by and doesn't mind plucking for me; or 2. I live in a nice home with a nice attendant who plucks; or 3. I am so deliriously brain gone that I don't give a rat's patootie as the drool dribbles down over the whiskers while I watch Wheel of Fortune.