I am so paranoid.
I told this story to Nan, and now I'm picturing ya'll giggling behind the glass, saying "c'mon, tell us about the chin hair."
That's right. I grew a chin hair. At first I thought it was a patch of chin hair(s), but no, it was just naturally curly. (yeah, I know, I know)
So anyhoo...I happened to be talking to Nan when I was pondering this, stroking chin hair thoughtfully, I then stopped and typed, "Is this where I decide to fight it or celebrate it?"
she typed back: "PLUCK it"
But I thought no, and suggested I could like, I dunno, go for "interesting" and tie a bell or a tourquoise bead to my chin.
I decided to give it an afternoon to think about it. What the heck, yanno?
So I sat here, and I was reading poetry and such, and as obsessive as I am, yep, I grew fond of the chin hair. In fact, I prolly smoked less cigarettes that day, as instead of compulsively lighting stogies, I was compulsively stroking my chin hair.
Just when I decided to keep it--the durned thing fell out!
(I couldn't find it anywhere either--I was going to tape it to an index card as a memento or something.)
But I typed back at Nan what had happened, and after a little thought I added:
"Yanno? As compulsive as I am, if I were a man? I'd be, well, wickless."
What she doesn't know, is that after I gave that further consideration, I looked down at my crotch and thought:
"Oh no!! Maybe I was!"
Well. I used to have a chin hair to prove it.
* * *
Oh my dear friend, it just keeps getting better and better--who wants to break the news to her about those little woolly moles ya grow on your neck, I think the dermatologist calls 'em "skin tags"?
You have my most sincere screen hug, Linda.