Growing chin hair: The Aging Process

Aging can be a real bastard.

I remember older women warning me when I was younger to appreciate all I had.

My boobs that were pert, my chin that was hairless, my eyesight which was perfect.

I ignored them all, I thought I was pretty set for life.

Then I aged.

Just a bit at a time.

A sag here and there, a stray whisper on my chin that didn’t seem related to my eyebrows.

Then suddenly, one day, I woke up, realised my breasts were cuddling my kneecaps, my face was one only a Gorilla could love and my stomach had a road map on it.

I attacked the only one I could really confront immediately, and I rang the beauticians and booked in for a full face wax, which apparently is very popular with women over 35.

I keep tweezers in the car, for emergency uses, I invest in amazing bras, I live in big knickers.

I know I am not alone, because the local beauticians is always busy, and women frequently exit with red chins and glowing mustaches.  At dinner with friends, hair loss on the head and hair gain every frigging other place is a popular topic.  We discuss ways to shift the beards and how to research FUE hair transplants.

But perhaps at times I am a little too open about it.

Maybe I should be more private in my approach to hair removal.

Take last week for example.

I had a meeting in the morning, and during an innocent stroke of my chin in a vague attempt to look interested; I found a hair.

Not just any hair, but one many would describe as coarse.

In fact it was like an angry erect penis protruding from my jawline, hungrily looking for its mate.

And it was black.

I didn’t even need to look at it to confirm it was dark against my skin, I could just feel it….

I tried to ignore it, but it used hypnotic powers to pull my fingers towards it, I found myself stroking it, squeezing it between my thumb and finger.  I think I paid my hairy little angry erect penis so much attention that I encouraged its growth.

I could see my colleague peering at me as I fought a battle with my own chin, and eventually I sat on my hand to prevent the hair getting too over excited.

Then, I almost forgot about it.

I left the meeting, got in the car, set off home.

At the first set of traffic lights, as I stopped on a red light, I suddenly felt it rear its head again.

I reached for the emergency tweezers, pulled down the rear view mirror and set to performing an emergency removal.

I didn’t even notice the bus pull in beside me.

Nor did I even register the bus driver turn to look at me with an expression of pure glee.

I confess it made me jump when I heard the horn go beep, but I remained steady handed and focused on the task in hand.

Then jubilant, I clutched my angry little penis and watched it deflate between the tweezers.  My chin once more as smooth as a set of freshly waxed toes.

Then I heard the horn again, and turned to see what was occurring.

The bus driver next to me had tears rolling down his face as he mimicked my hair removal process.  His full school bus of children were all pressed up against the window like Tories at a Brexit vote.

All of them were feigning hair removal from their chin.  Some kids even went one step further and began to fake hair removal from some rather questionable parts of their body!

I was so embarrassed I stalled, which caused even more happiness to emit from the red bus beside me.

I had a smooth chin and a bruised ego.

So perhaps I should reserve hair removal as a bathroom activity only!

 

The shame!

 

(Disclosure – this post contains a featured link – all references to hairyness are sadly true, please see my disclosure page for details of advertising etc.)