Recently there was a discussion in one of my online mom's groups about chin/facial hairs. At first, I avoided the topic as body hair gives me the heebie jeebies. From the neck down is pretty much a free-for-all for my razor and has been, for the most part, hair-free for about the past 10 years. Life is good.
It was a normal Tuesday about 3 weeks ago when I climbed into my car to leave for work and flipped down the visor mirror to do my makeup (whatever, I was running late). I began with my foundation as I sat in the driveway- there is a routine (I'm late a lot); driveway-foundation, first stop light-powder, second light- blush and lip color, work parking lot- mascara, which equals me arriving at work looking like a million bucks. Or at least not like I just got out of my pajamas 10 minutes before I rolled into work (which I did).
So anyway. Normal Tuesday. Foundation. Right. As I casually glanced in the mirror to make sure I didn't look like the illegitimate child of Two-Face and the Joker, something dark and sinister caught my eye.
I'll cut to the chase. It was the beginnings of my own hormone induced pregnancy mustache. I almost passed out and I won't lie- I got a little teary. I thought "this is it. The beginning of the end." and then I vowed to never look at myself again. Except that didn't work because now I looked like Wolverine came over for a threesome with Two Face and the Joker and I work with children and would probably be fired for scaring them.
BTW- someone out there educate me. I sat here for 10 minutes looking for a hairy, moustached villain from Batman and came up with nil. I had to pull out Wolverine which made me think of Hugh Jackman and the word "threesome" in the same sentence. Which made this post take much longer than it should have.
So it has been three weeks and while I have not been able to not look at my mug in the mirror, I have specifically tried to make it as quick as possible and am sure not to let my eyes wander to places that would upset me. So I have avoided noticing if I have advanced from Justin Timberlake faux-stache to a Burt Reynolds special. Until today.
As if my body sensed the coming nervous breakdown, all lip hair has returned to a non-seizure inducing peach fuzz color and cinsitency<----holy shit that is actually how I spelled that because I am typing one handed and my brain is melting from watching Sid the Science Kid----consistency.
On that happy note (the hair update, not the brain melting part), I'm going to go take a nap.
It was a normal Tuesday about 3 weeks ago when I climbed into my car to leave for work and flipped down the visor mirror to do my makeup (whatever, I was running late). I began with my foundation as I sat in the driveway- there is a routine (I'm late a lot); driveway-foundation, first stop light-powder, second light- blush and lip color, work parking lot- mascara, which equals me arriving at work looking like a million bucks. Or at least not like I just got out of my pajamas 10 minutes before I rolled into work (which I did).
So anyway. Normal Tuesday. Foundation. Right. As I casually glanced in the mirror to make sure I didn't look like the illegitimate child of Two-Face and the Joker, something dark and sinister caught my eye.
I'll cut to the chase. It was the beginnings of my own hormone induced pregnancy mustache. I almost passed out and I won't lie- I got a little teary. I thought "this is it. The beginning of the end." and then I vowed to never look at myself again. Except that didn't work because now I looked like Wolverine came over for a threesome with Two Face and the Joker and I work with children and would probably be fired for scaring them.
BTW- someone out there educate me. I sat here for 10 minutes looking for a hairy, moustached villain from Batman and came up with nil. I had to pull out Wolverine which made me think of Hugh Jackman and the word "threesome" in the same sentence. Which made this post take much longer than it should have.
So it has been three weeks and while I have not been able to not look at my mug in the mirror, I have specifically tried to make it as quick as possible and am sure not to let my eyes wander to places that would upset me. So I have avoided noticing if I have advanced from Justin Timberlake faux-stache to a Burt Reynolds special. Until today.
As if my body sensed the coming nervous breakdown, all lip hair has returned to a non-seizure inducing peach fuzz color and cinsitency<----holy shit that is actually how I spelled that because I am typing one handed and my brain is melting from watching Sid the Science Kid----consistency.
On that happy note (the hair update, not the brain melting part), I'm going to go take a nap.
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