Dear Abnormally Long Chin Hair,
We’ve been intimately acquainted since I first noticed you my sophomore year of high school. I looked in the mirror one day before school and was horrified to find a thick whisker protruding from my chin. I might have cried.
Growing up, I’d watched my mom curse her Mediterranean genes as she plucked the dark hairs from around her mouth, and I’d seen similar whiskers dotted along the jawline of my 90-year-old great grandmother as she gnawed on Parmesan rinds in her favorite recliner by the fireplace. I thought you were an indicator of my destiny, so I plucked you and set the tweezers on the counter dejectedly. No use putting them away since I’d probably have a full beard tomorrow…
But that never happened. It was just you, Chin Hair. It’s still just you. And while I’m thankful to avoid the constant maintenance of facial hair (my mom once told me that if she’s ever in a coma I have to come to the hospital twice a day to pluck her beard), living with you isn’t exactly a walk in the park. If I don’t pluck you often enough I can feel you start to poke through my skin. There have been times I’ve forgotten about you only to have you show up in pictures later. You photobomb me like a drunk fratboy sitting one row back at a Dave Matthews concert. Not cool, Chin Hair, not cool.
I will admit that you are kind of fun to pluck, since you are thicker and longer than the average chin fuzz. Sometimes I let out a satisfied grunt as I rip you from my face. In every other area of my life I maintain the free-spirited demeanor of a Montessori preschool teacher, advocating individuality and self-expression, but you bring out a side of me that more closely resembles a totalitarian dictator. The nail that sticks up will be hammered down! Or, in my case, the hair that sticks out will be plucked! This isn’t me. This isn’t what I stand for. Do you see what you do to me, Chin Hair?
Here’s the thing, though. You might be ugly and annoying and provoke my violent tendencies, but there’s a part of me that appreciates the cyclical nature of our relationship. Every week for over a decade now, you pop out of my chin and I dutifully pluck you. Each of us is committed to our end of the deal, and there’s something so comforting about that. We live in a crazy world, Chin Hair. I may not always like you, but at least I can count on you.
See you in a few days.