It was just any other day. Cold, overcast, and I was keeping warm inside. I read, I wrote, I emailed and chatted, I cuddled with the dog – even gave the cat a treat. But finishing up in the powder room at 4:32pm proved to make my “any other day” an eventful, and traumatic experience. Because as I was washing my hands, I noticed something in the powder room mirror… It was a hair – there.
See I have a beauty mark on my neck. That’s the nice thing to call it. Really, it’s a mole, very similar to the one on Cindy Crawford. It’s just to the left of my Adam’s apple. It doesn’t look unseemly and most people might even think it isn’t raised unless they’re right up close. Even though it is raised, from a superficial standpoint it is no big deal. Honestly, the biggest complaint I have about it, is strictly functional: It is a shaving hazard! Seriously when I have I avoid that area completely, because it only takes one accidental knick to decide: NEVER AGAIN!
And yet here I was looking at my perfectly fine, yet annoying mole and I noticed what looked like a dark curly hair. I recently dyed my hair with dark brown/almost black and medium brown highlights, to be mixed in with my red. So I thought that a stray hair from my head simply fell on my neck. I VERY gently brushed it away. But it stayed! It STAYED! I decided there was no reason to panic and leaned into the mirror to get a better look. “Oh my God!” I cried and quickly left, heading towards the kitchen. Angel, our dog, looked at me with sleepy eyes now showing alarm. I felt bad for stirring her, so I brought her a tiny treat and she went back to sleep. The cat was eyeing me from the stairwell, looking like her usual evil self, while I paced around the kitchen and kitchenette, trying to think of what to do.
Surely, I had to be mistaken. I mean I don’t get random and stray hairs in usual places. I’m Irish, so my body is all freckles and none of them have hair spouting out of them. (Thank God!) What could this be? Punishment for some long-forgotten sin (hey, I was raised Catholic, many things to do with your body is really the work of the devil 😛 ) or perhaps it was a hazing ritual to remind me I was older. (I’m 31, which isn’t that old.)
I decided it was no big deal. Sure, I had to tell myself that four times, but I took a break and went back into the powder room to get another look at the offending hair. And then I felt sick. It was worse than I feared, and how had I not seen it before??? I wasn’t looking at a hair; I was looking at hairs – as in plural. Fine and curly, dark (I have no idea why so dark, darker than any body hair etc.) hairs grew out of my already loathsome beauty mark. I took another break, may have muttered something and walked out of the powder room again.
There was some more pacing; as my mind wandered I tried to think of something that would take my mind off my terrible discovery. But I couldn’t help myself and went back into the powder room to stare at these hair(s!) some more. I realized that facing forward made them hard to see. In fact anyone looking right at me would find them almost undetectable. I just caught it because I’m observant, and perhaps I was bored or just had a little luck. It’s when I turn to my side that you can see what’s really going on. And it’s like a circus! I can’t figure out just how many hairs I have because they’re all spiral-curly, like my hair was before the chemo I was on a few years ago unkinked it into semi-curly waves. It’s like they (the hairs) are dancing with each other or something. At my expense!
One hour later, and the shock has not completely worn off. Or the horror and embarrassment and shame. Why do I have a hair there? What to do… what to do…
I’ll probably have my husband cut it with super small scissors, as close as he can without touching my mole, which is hella sensitive. I would do it myself, but I’m afraid because of where it’s positioned, it would not be wise. Of course, this makes me borderline frightened because while I love my husband… this is definitely more of a “me” kind of thing. Gentle, gentle…
I’m not thinking about the fact that these hairs will grow back. Or that I won’t rid myself of them completely. Because every time I start to go there, I shudder. Just like I do when I think of what is currently taking up residence on the mole on my neck. I feel like I should do a heeby jeeby dance or something.
Why, Universe? I know much more terrible fates could befall me, but I’ve already had my fair share, haven’t I? Why must I bear this, too? (Collapses dramatically.) I’m done.