I am not sure when it happened, but I have noticed recently my pull toward small gratification. The tiniest things bring me joy. The laughter of a small child as they discover the wonders of their world. Playtime with the girls in the backyard. A passion tea lemonade from Starbucks. Oh, and the delivery of brand new tweezers.
WHAT?
You heard me. Tweezers. Now, if you are younger than thirty, you probably don’t have a Chia pet growing out of your chin. Those black hairs that grow so fast, I have to wonder if Rapunzel is residing in my chin and upper lip. Try pulling those with dull tweezers and you have one frustrated middle-age woman. That’s me, in case you got lost in the story, or simply fell asleep.
Last week, I misplaced my favorite tweezers which forced me to use some subpar tweezers that just didn’t have the gripping power. I would revisit the situation day after day convinced that I just needed to give it more chances to prove itself. That’s insanity. Those tweezers were no longer viable. Time of death….last Wednesday.
I ordered a new pair of tweezers that were eager to show off to the lesser pair of tweezers. The elation I felt as I removed each overgrown hair was palpable. I had so much relief that I won’t be a circus sideshow. I think the aging process is really fucked up. I mean, things are slowing down, but my production of facial hair has taken on a life of its own. Acceptance is doable as long as I have a sharp pair of tweezers.
Aging gracefully, one facial hair at a time.
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