Dulled by the ordinary events of every day--the usual morning ablutions, thankless customers, identical microwavable lunches--I find myself in the middle of my week without completely remembering how I got there. And as I get ready for bed at night, taking extra care to baby my poor, abused face, I study my reflection.
What the...? How long has that been there?
I brush a finger over it. Yep, it's attached. A single dark hair. Long. The one that got away.
Sometimes it's on your neck. Sometimes your collarbone. Maybe your cheek. But now and then, do you somehow manage to miss one?
Goodness knows where it hides when you're scraping that razor over your skin, but some way that hair evades decapitation for days, even a week without being noticed. Is the lighting to blame? The angle of your face in the mirror? Have we just stopped paying close attention as we go about our various hair removal methods?
And how many people have noticed it? How long was that thing pokin' out for all the world to see? If I didn't know it was there, and therefore acted like it wasn't there, what are the chances anyone else knew it was there?
Personally, I still don't like those odds. But there's no way to change the past, however long that sneaky hair's been growing on me. I can only shake my head, chuckle, and grab the tweezers.
I'm off on vacation this weekend, so there won't be an update next week and I won't be able to respond to any comments. Time again for swimsuits and unfamiliar bathroom lighting situations, but it's a lake and it's beautiful, and it's time off. See you all on the 26th!