Pluck it!

If you are over 30 you will know what I’m talking about. If you are over 35 you will shout out “Amen” or “Hallelujah.” If you are in your 20’s what I’m about to say may scare the hell out of you. I have to pluck chin hairs. It’s not everyday. I don’t need a Bic, but they are course, black hairs. Otherwise, I would end up looking like the lady who works at your local fabric store.

Just last week my 5-year-old son asked me if women can grow beards. I answered, “If they don’t have a good pair of tweezers!” Well, not 24 hours later those words would come back to haunt me.

Early Saturday morning I took my little princess to the doctor. She caught a wicked virus and was miserable. I fully expected her to thrown a tantrum, but she was such an angel in the office. She didn’t scream or cry. She complained only once by declaring aloud, “I am not happy” to the adults surrounding her. It just so happened that a med student was shadowing the doctor that day. So, there were four of us crammed the small examination room. You could hear a pin drop when my daughter glanced at my chin, did a double-take and declared, “You have a hair right there!” I tried to ignore her, but she repeated even louder. “Ewww, right there. You have a hair.” (Damn her advanced vocabulary) “Okay, honey.” I giggled as my face turned five shades of red. “Let’s just do what the doctor says.” I was horrified. “Get it! It’s right there.” I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with the doctor or student. She finally let it go. This is one time I wished she was throwing a tantrum instead of criticizing me. I plucked that sucker the minute we got in the car. “Did you get it Mommy?” Yes, I did.

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