One of the positive things about ageing -- and I am keeping a list -- is that my body hair has stopped growing. I no longer shave my legs or underarms and I'm in no danger of being mistaken for any type of simian.
One of the negative things about ageing -- and I am keeping a list -- is that that same body hair that was once growing on my legs and underarms has found a new home on my chin.
I pluck it, I shave it and it just keeps coming back like some follicle possessed by a boomerang. Remember the story of the three little pigs? The wolf bangs on the door to be let in and the pigs defy him by taunting "not by the hair on my chinny chin chin". As a kid I thought it was just a clever rhyme. I am no longer laughing.
Think of how illustrators and cartoonists portray crones, hags and wicked witches. Of course there's the obligatory warts and perhaps a greenish skin tone. But what else do they have in common? Yes, chin hair. A lovely image, is it not?
It's not like I'm sporting a goatee -- now that would have me in the electrologist's chair in a New York minute. Much like the teenager with a zit on prom night, I feel like all of mankind sees it --- and, left unplucked -- will soon have its own address on a social networking site.
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