What Men Do With Tweezers

Today, I’m going to talk about something that just embarrasses me to no end, but I believe it is important enough to women everywhere that I’m going to bite back the shame, and cover this subject in length. And it all started with an argument with Chef over my tweezers.

Unappealing facial hair has been no secret to mankind for tons of decades by now, but as a reddish blonde girl

that tends to grow peach fuzz instead of hair all over my body, I paid absolutely no attention to the despair other women were going through over this somewhat unfeminine scourge of theirs. My sisters and my mom are all brunettes, and they seemed to speak this unknown language of eyebrow picking and mustache removal wax that secretly, I was happy to skip. I had watched my mom pluck her eyebrows hundreds of times over years of my childhood, and the whole process kind of grossed me out. I hate pain in general. So, before I will embark on something painful, no matter how great it is going to make me look, I weigh all the pros and cons. And having perfectly shaped eyebrows just weren’t worth the plucking pain you had to stand to get them. Plus, frankly you can’t really see mine that well. They’re even lighter than my hair…win!

But, about 5 years ago or so, my body betrayed me in a horrible way by growing one — ONE! – hair on my chin. And in a cruel twist of fate, it was blonde, so I didn’t know it was growing there until it was somewhat impressive in length. Yes. I can feel so many of you turning away from this post in disgust. But, I’m trying to help my fellow woman, so I will endure your distaste as a martyr should.

Because my hair is long, curly, and given to flyaway, tickle moments, the fact that some random hair was tickling my chin didn’t really alarm me…I was a fool for not checking.

Finally, through sheer boredom at work, I moseyed on into the girl’s bathroom to pull my hair back out of my face, and the sunlight hit my chin just so…And I could see this rebel hair that had grown on my chin!!!  Oh, the Horror! Let’s just say that it was long enough for me to pull it out with just my fingers. I wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground. I mean, I had essentially grown a full beard!

Keeping my dark shameful secret to myself, I had hoped that the hair had been some genetical fluke that wouldn’t repeat itself, but in a cruel twist of fate, that stupid hair made its stubby little appearance again within the next few days. It was official. I was some kind of freak show now, ready to join a circus and set up a tent so all the normal people in the world could come gross themselves out looking at the one hair on my chin.

In desperation to keep my secret from getting out, I went to the store and bought some pretty expensive tweezers. I needed the best. Obviously, they were going to need to hold up to a strenuous exercise of pulling my one hair out every day or so. And for some unknown, un-holy reason, my husband keeps taking my tweezers out of the bathroom. I mean, seriously, guys. What do you guys need with tweezers???

I’ve confronted my tweezer-thief on many occasions, and I get varying answers, most that are vague and uninteresting. Some answers have been disturbing, and through it all, I’ve managed to lose about two dozen pairs over the years.

This morning, as I was getting my tweezers out the cabinet, and lifting them up to my face to search for The Hair, my husband, walking by the bathroom says, ” I wouldn’t use those on your face anymore if I were you…” and kept on walking. I dropped said tweezers like a hot marble, and they fell down the sink.

I am sitting here, freshly shaven because I am now afraid to touch any of the tweezers in my house…. All the really cool things I was going to write about are all lost memories because my brain won’t stop pondering just exactly what disgusting thing he might have done with my tweezers.

Seriously. This is what my mind is stuck on.

— Bird