You all know how weird I am about my excess facial hair.
This morning I was, once again, on the hunt for two stray whiskers I've been picking at for days. With my glasses, in bright light and a 5X magnifying mirror, I could not see them, but I could feel them.
It took four or five minutes, but I got those suckers. True, I now have a small bloody hole on my chin, but the hairs are gone.
How many times, I wonder, have I turned a harmless nuisance into a bloody hole? We don't need to talk about the time I put the hose of Mom's Electrolux on my chin to suck out a pimple. Or the time I reused wax strips until the skin over my lips was bleeding. (The scabs were lovely in the vacation pics.) Actually, that was no worse than the time the esthetician burned my face with wax the afternoon before my first ever match.com date.
You'd think those hairs would just give up already. Or maybe I'm the one who needs to give it a rest?