Instead of Gray Hair, I Get More...

Whiskers. Yep. I'll admit it. I get those "things we do not speak of". Woo! That's a tough confession.

I'm pretty sure a new one pops up for continuous battle each year. It started in college when I discovered that a weird hair was growing from a scar underneath my chin. It didn't freak me out as I thought the problem was really the scar. Maybe a damaged hair follicle. So what did I do? I plucked. There, whisker gone.

Now, 10 years later, I have 10 whiskers that I daily scope out to see if any have reared their ugly heads again. They're crafty, those suckers. There is nothing worse than coming home after a day among friends to discover a gnarly whisker gleaming in the light. Either I miss them, or I think the more likely scenario is that they grow with steroid fury just to spite me.

Then there is the thumb check: An absentminded glide over the chin in the middle of the day to feel for those obvious stand alones. When I find one, it is an instant problem. They're usually just long enough to be a menace, but not long enough to get a good grip with the thumb and first finger. So I end up just wiggling it back and forth like a loose tooth, wishing I had a tweezers nearby.

Ken and I have a pact for our old age. He promises to pluck my whiskers when I can no longer see straight, and I'll be there to help him out with those other "things we do not speak of" on the tops of his ears. That my friends, is love.

So, you may be dreading that occasional gray hair, but fear not, someone out there is worse off, wiggling stumpy whiskers.