I went through the drive-through at McDonald's the other day for a burger. I don't eat much red meat anymore so this was a treat, even though I'm not sure it really counts as red meat. When I placed my order, the cashier finished with "Anything else for you, hon?"
I grimmaced and smiled at the same time. I could tell by listening this woman was younger than I, and I don't know a soul that works there, yet she called me a name I thought was typically bestowed upon a loved one.
I didn't grow up with pet names. Our given names were twisted, shortened, and skewed, but I don't recall ever being Hon, Honey, Sugar or Sweetie. Melissa Ann became Melissa Sue, Missi Sue, Missi, and just plain Miss. My sister Rhonda became Rhon or Rhonnie. Or Rotunda if I felt onery.
My brother Eddy was BumBum for awhile, but other than that, just plain Eddy.
When I had my children, I purposely chose names that couldn't be nicknamed or teased with on the school front. At home, my girls became Silly Goose, Fred, Layne the Pain (yes, I chose to inflict the teasing I was so worried about), Ashpit, etc. No Hons from me.
It could be regional I suppose. I grew up in Wyoming and now I live in the deep south. I hear a lot of super-sweet names. I like hearing it but I feel its reserved for younger children. I feel certain this is probably MY hangup and no one elses.
I know I'm sweet - I've been called that often since moving here. I suppose since Hon is short for Honey, it's another denoting factor of just how sweet I am. Even my doctor has called me Sweetie before.
I suppose I should get used to it. I mean, I must be sweet if everyone in Georgia knows it. It's just the way things are down here. Hot muggy days heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. Lazy afternoons spent drinking mint juleps and working hard trying to stay cool.
And I could get used to it, if I had someone I loved whisper it in my ear, or I could change my name to Honey and then everyone would be forced to call me that on a daily basis.
Life is sweet.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Self Doubt and Shaky Ground
I need to find another job. I know this. I've known this for a couple of years. The business is dying a slow and cancerous death.
When I was hired, there were approximately 100 employees. It's now down to 30; partly because some were smarter and found other jobs early, and partly because of layoffs. So far, I've been personally unaffected by the layoffs - I say personally, because I'm still here, but I have been profoundly affected.
During the demise of a very public marriage I realized that I needed to get out of the spotlight for awhile. I had an opportunity arise to interview for a small family-owned business and I jumped on it. Because of the high-profile of my position at the Chamber of Commerce, I had become well known and my reputation spoke for itself - I was hired immediately.
I brought with me a sense of pride - I wore nice clothes, I conducted business meetings properly, and I worked hard to maintain a proper business ethic.
I was ridiculed for my clothes - I was obviously trying to impress someone. Business meetings were a joke - it was acceptable to conduct your own conversations while others were speaking, eating chips out of a noisy bag was only annoying to me, and telling inconsequential personal stories were the norm. What I perceived as emergencies were really no big deals. Business attire here is totally up to you - no standards whatsoever.
Four years later I'm trying to revamp my resume, taking a hard look at my closet for acceptable interview clothes and examining my self worth. I don't have a college degree. I've gone to college but life kept getting in the way. I've raised four children but that doesn't fit into work history anywhere.
I've been shaken to my very core with life's lessons. I've built so many walls that I can't even see myself, let alone let someone else see me for who I really am. How am I supposed to sell myself to someone else? How am I supposed to convince a company they need me?
The other day I submitted a resume for a part-time position. The job would be at a call center for a well-known company. Here I can wear what I want. I would be a mere employee - not a manager. Not the go-to person for every question that needs answered or for jobs that no one else wants to do.
The interview was on Monday. We had a storm and the electricity was out right up to the time of the interview. I had fully intended to reprint my resume and references but was unable to because of the outage. Since I had submitted both on-line, I really wasn't prepared to redo the entire process when I got there.
I felt totally inadequate.
I'm sure I prattled because I was nervous. I interviewed with two women - one was personable and the other was made of stone. I was then asked to set with a person and watch her perform her duties. Could I handle this? You bet.
It's Thursday and I've not heard a single word. What does this mean? Do they think I don't need the job because I've got one now? Do they think I lied about not being able to produce phone numbers? Are they comparing the resume I submitted on-line to the head-scratching stuff I frantically scribbled out when I got there? Do they know some secret information about me that I don't know? How can I wear four different manager hats here but not qualify to answer the phone there? This has me worried. What about me did they not like?
I can't expect them to know me because I've basically lived underground the last little bit. I don't go anywhere, I don't socialize much at all, and I sure don't brag about myself to the people I do know. I've become part of the background of life.
I've prayed at length about this. God knows I'm struggling financially. God knows I need a break. God also knows the personal battles I've fought and battles I continue to fight. But maybe, just maybe, God knows this might be too much for me right now. Maybe He knows that even though I think I could handle a second job, that maybe I really can't. Maybe there is a better opportunity He is offering up in the future. Maybe I'm not pointing myself in the right direction.
Maybe He wants me to stop and enjoy life for a change.
Maybe I need to plant the roses I'm supposed to stop and smell.
Maybe I just need to let Go and let God.
When I was hired, there were approximately 100 employees. It's now down to 30; partly because some were smarter and found other jobs early, and partly because of layoffs. So far, I've been personally unaffected by the layoffs - I say personally, because I'm still here, but I have been profoundly affected.
During the demise of a very public marriage I realized that I needed to get out of the spotlight for awhile. I had an opportunity arise to interview for a small family-owned business and I jumped on it. Because of the high-profile of my position at the Chamber of Commerce, I had become well known and my reputation spoke for itself - I was hired immediately.
I brought with me a sense of pride - I wore nice clothes, I conducted business meetings properly, and I worked hard to maintain a proper business ethic.
I was ridiculed for my clothes - I was obviously trying to impress someone. Business meetings were a joke - it was acceptable to conduct your own conversations while others were speaking, eating chips out of a noisy bag was only annoying to me, and telling inconsequential personal stories were the norm. What I perceived as emergencies were really no big deals. Business attire here is totally up to you - no standards whatsoever.
Four years later I'm trying to revamp my resume, taking a hard look at my closet for acceptable interview clothes and examining my self worth. I don't have a college degree. I've gone to college but life kept getting in the way. I've raised four children but that doesn't fit into work history anywhere.
I've been shaken to my very core with life's lessons. I've built so many walls that I can't even see myself, let alone let someone else see me for who I really am. How am I supposed to sell myself to someone else? How am I supposed to convince a company they need me?
The other day I submitted a resume for a part-time position. The job would be at a call center for a well-known company. Here I can wear what I want. I would be a mere employee - not a manager. Not the go-to person for every question that needs answered or for jobs that no one else wants to do.
The interview was on Monday. We had a storm and the electricity was out right up to the time of the interview. I had fully intended to reprint my resume and references but was unable to because of the outage. Since I had submitted both on-line, I really wasn't prepared to redo the entire process when I got there.
I felt totally inadequate.
I'm sure I prattled because I was nervous. I interviewed with two women - one was personable and the other was made of stone. I was then asked to set with a person and watch her perform her duties. Could I handle this? You bet.
It's Thursday and I've not heard a single word. What does this mean? Do they think I don't need the job because I've got one now? Do they think I lied about not being able to produce phone numbers? Are they comparing the resume I submitted on-line to the head-scratching stuff I frantically scribbled out when I got there? Do they know some secret information about me that I don't know? How can I wear four different manager hats here but not qualify to answer the phone there? This has me worried. What about me did they not like?
I can't expect them to know me because I've basically lived underground the last little bit. I don't go anywhere, I don't socialize much at all, and I sure don't brag about myself to the people I do know. I've become part of the background of life.
I've prayed at length about this. God knows I'm struggling financially. God knows I need a break. God also knows the personal battles I've fought and battles I continue to fight. But maybe, just maybe, God knows this might be too much for me right now. Maybe He knows that even though I think I could handle a second job, that maybe I really can't. Maybe there is a better opportunity He is offering up in the future. Maybe I'm not pointing myself in the right direction.
Maybe He wants me to stop and enjoy life for a change.
Maybe I need to plant the roses I'm supposed to stop and smell.
Maybe I just need to let Go and let God.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Fragile - Handle With Care
That's me, fragile.
I didn't think I was fragile until recently. I had always thought I could do pretty much whatever I needed to do. I thought I was strong and mentally keen enough to handle all of life's curves.
My dad was an alcoholic and my mother was a classic co-dependent. There were three of us children - Me, Rhonda and Eddy. Rhonda is a year younger than I and Eddy is five years younger. Rhonda and I were a team. We shared a room, shared clothes and shared a locker in high school. We were each others best friends. Eddy was clearly mom's favorite child, and it really didn't bother Rhonda or I because we had each other.
I'm pretty sensitive, I admit. I take everything personal.
What I heard when Dad was doing his usual chastising, was that we were lucky to be his children because no one else would want us. It seemed a common theme after a weekend of heavy drinking. He may have only said it once, but I remember it clearly. I never felt good enough for Dad during those years. And Mom - well she was in her own little hell and we just lived around her.
An odd opportunity afforded itself when I was about 19. I met a man who was going to Alaska to guide for big game. I couldn't think of any place further away from home than Alaska, and I needed to get away. When this man said "I think we'd get hired faster if we were married", I agreed. I clearly wasn't thinking straight and I didn't listen to family when they asked me not to go through with it.
We married quickly and headed for Alaska in an old pickup once owned by Union Pacific. It was pencil yellow and he (WP) had built a homemade camper out of plywood on the back. Inside was a bed and a cook stove. I learned how to build a fire, how to cook over an open fire, hunt, make bread from scratch, make butter, can, live without electricity and running water, and ultimately, survive. What made me think I could do this? I did what I had to do though, with many emotional scars from marrying the wrong person.
As a divorced woman with two little girls, we lived in low income housing and our payday treat was pizza from Dominos. I scraped every penny to put food on the table, which more often than not was Ramen noodles. I took a job as an assistant catering manager for a large hotel/motel in Cheyenne. The hours were from eight in the morning to whenever the party was over, which could be around 2 am. When my health began to suffer and I was truly afraid of dying, I quit my job and took another at a mortgage company.
During this time, I met another man. We had dated for about a year and a half when we married. I so wanted to be married to the right man. This man was rescuing me. I had been a failure with the first marriage and now I was a used person with baggage. I welcomed the chance to prove I could be the person needed to truly make this a partnership.
He was a minister so I worked hard on being the perfect minister's wife. What on earth made me think I could do this, having not grown up in a Christian home? His father was also a minister and I learned I could never hold a candle to his mom, who was truly gifted in that area. But I tried.
We were not compatable at all. The only thing we had in common was my girls, who now numbered four. His parenting styles with the two older girls only compounded the tension in the house. We didn't fight because I avoid confrontation at all costs. All costs.
It cost me so much.
Unfortunately, we lived a lie for 20 years. The picture we painted was that of a happy Christian family. We moved from town to town and kept up the charades until I finally broke and filed for divorce.
I'm a very private person and no one at work even knows I'm divorced. But when I have shared my story with my counselor, she tells me I'm one of the strongest women she's ever met.
I've built walls to protect myself only to find tiny fissures in the facade.
There are days when I know I'm healing. Long time friends and family will say "It's good to hear you laugh again" or "I can see a sparkle in your eye I haven't seen for years." This makes me sad because I didn't realize how far down I had gone. I knew I was extremely depressed but I couldn't find my way out of my hell hole.
I will not put all blame on the three men in my life - I have to say I have learned that I also am to blame - for not fighting for what was right.
While I'm healing, I feel like I need that big red sticker plastered to my forehead - actually, over my heart might be a better place. "Fragile - Handle With Care"
I can do this, too, right?
With God's help, I can do anything.
I didn't think I was fragile until recently. I had always thought I could do pretty much whatever I needed to do. I thought I was strong and mentally keen enough to handle all of life's curves.
My dad was an alcoholic and my mother was a classic co-dependent. There were three of us children - Me, Rhonda and Eddy. Rhonda is a year younger than I and Eddy is five years younger. Rhonda and I were a team. We shared a room, shared clothes and shared a locker in high school. We were each others best friends. Eddy was clearly mom's favorite child, and it really didn't bother Rhonda or I because we had each other.
I'm pretty sensitive, I admit. I take everything personal.
What I heard when Dad was doing his usual chastising, was that we were lucky to be his children because no one else would want us. It seemed a common theme after a weekend of heavy drinking. He may have only said it once, but I remember it clearly. I never felt good enough for Dad during those years. And Mom - well she was in her own little hell and we just lived around her.
An odd opportunity afforded itself when I was about 19. I met a man who was going to Alaska to guide for big game. I couldn't think of any place further away from home than Alaska, and I needed to get away. When this man said "I think we'd get hired faster if we were married", I agreed. I clearly wasn't thinking straight and I didn't listen to family when they asked me not to go through with it.
We married quickly and headed for Alaska in an old pickup once owned by Union Pacific. It was pencil yellow and he (WP) had built a homemade camper out of plywood on the back. Inside was a bed and a cook stove. I learned how to build a fire, how to cook over an open fire, hunt, make bread from scratch, make butter, can, live without electricity and running water, and ultimately, survive. What made me think I could do this? I did what I had to do though, with many emotional scars from marrying the wrong person.
As a divorced woman with two little girls, we lived in low income housing and our payday treat was pizza from Dominos. I scraped every penny to put food on the table, which more often than not was Ramen noodles. I took a job as an assistant catering manager for a large hotel/motel in Cheyenne. The hours were from eight in the morning to whenever the party was over, which could be around 2 am. When my health began to suffer and I was truly afraid of dying, I quit my job and took another at a mortgage company.
During this time, I met another man. We had dated for about a year and a half when we married. I so wanted to be married to the right man. This man was rescuing me. I had been a failure with the first marriage and now I was a used person with baggage. I welcomed the chance to prove I could be the person needed to truly make this a partnership.
He was a minister so I worked hard on being the perfect minister's wife. What on earth made me think I could do this, having not grown up in a Christian home? His father was also a minister and I learned I could never hold a candle to his mom, who was truly gifted in that area. But I tried.
We were not compatable at all. The only thing we had in common was my girls, who now numbered four. His parenting styles with the two older girls only compounded the tension in the house. We didn't fight because I avoid confrontation at all costs. All costs.
It cost me so much.
Unfortunately, we lived a lie for 20 years. The picture we painted was that of a happy Christian family. We moved from town to town and kept up the charades until I finally broke and filed for divorce.
I'm a very private person and no one at work even knows I'm divorced. But when I have shared my story with my counselor, she tells me I'm one of the strongest women she's ever met.
I've built walls to protect myself only to find tiny fissures in the facade.
There are days when I know I'm healing. Long time friends and family will say "It's good to hear you laugh again" or "I can see a sparkle in your eye I haven't seen for years." This makes me sad because I didn't realize how far down I had gone. I knew I was extremely depressed but I couldn't find my way out of my hell hole.
I will not put all blame on the three men in my life - I have to say I have learned that I also am to blame - for not fighting for what was right.
While I'm healing, I feel like I need that big red sticker plastered to my forehead - actually, over my heart might be a better place. "Fragile - Handle With Care"
I can do this, too, right?
With God's help, I can do anything.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
A Little Road Rage
I remember as a child my mother bashing drivers from Iowa, saying they were the worst. The town was a tourist destination in the summer but according to her, Iowans were in town just to make her life miserable.
I've since moved away from there only to experience Iowans in other states. Seriously, they can't all be from Iowa, right?
In Texas, it seemed everyone owned a Suburban. Big huge all-purpose autos that you can't see in front of or to the side of. While two of my daughters were born in Texas, we were never fully considered Texans and therefore never owned an SUV while living there. But Texans didn't just own the big vehicles, they decorated them. Depending on the season, you'll find anything from Christmas wreaths and reindeer antlers on the front to propellers on the hitch. This isn't something I understand, but I feel confident stating it isn't SUV envy.
In Arkansas, another phenomenon emerged: the notion that you must let the car behind you know what the car in front of you is doing. There are a lot of winding roads in Arkansas and you could be in a string of 16 cars headed to who-knows-where when you realize that everyone in front of you has their left blinker on. You wonder what the heck your missing when you realize that only one of the 15 cars in front of you actually turned left.
Now I live in Atlanta. I'm here to tell you Atlantans are the most fearless drivers in the states. Speed limit signs mean nothing to them. They will drive as fast or as slow as they darn well please. These crazy drivers will tailgate within inches of your backseat. They'll swerve across three or four lanes of traffic to get to their exit and not even break a sweat. They think STOP signs are merge signs.
I asked a life-long Georgian about his driving habits - why didn't he use a blinker? Didn't want to wear it out. Why didn't he wear a seatbelt - didn't want the government telling him what to do. Why didn't he come to a complete stop - he checked and he didn't see anyone, so it was okay.
I admit, I've gotten a ticket for not coming to a complete stop. It happened when I was a teenager driving my dad's truck. I slowed way down but it wasn't good enough and I think I had to pay $35 or something. It scarred me for life. I've never not come to a complete stop since then.
I'll also admit that I will make several right turns to avoid making a left turn because I can't stand confrontation of any kind. I don't want someone behind me getting upset because I didn't move fast enough in making that left turn. If I miss a turn or realize I'm going to miss my turn, I don't cut people off because I don't want them to get mad at me.
I'm a blinker freak. Everyone needs to use their blinker. It's just courteous to do so. I use my blinker when turning into my own driveway which is at the end of a cul-de-sac. Unnecessary maybe, but courteous - hell yeah!
And speed limits - yes, I got a ticket for speeding when I was a teenager, too. I've not gotten caught since then but not because I'm anal about speeding but because I'm just extremely good looking (just kidding!). Seriously, I live in Atlanta where most everyone drives fast, I fit right in.
What really, really bothers me is when I allow a certain amount of time to get somewhere and a slow driver gets in front of me and adds minutes to that trip. It drives me crazy. I can't just follow him and enjoy the scenery - well actually I could - when it happens it seems they are driving slow enough I could get out and smell the roses. It seems these slow drivers are on the backroads - on my backroads - and their impeding my progress.
I'm a different person when I'm driving. I must have a split personality as I can go from the complacent obedient person that I am to a raging idiot. I just hope Jesus doesn't come when I'm in my car...
I've since moved away from there only to experience Iowans in other states. Seriously, they can't all be from Iowa, right?
In Texas, it seemed everyone owned a Suburban. Big huge all-purpose autos that you can't see in front of or to the side of. While two of my daughters were born in Texas, we were never fully considered Texans and therefore never owned an SUV while living there. But Texans didn't just own the big vehicles, they decorated them. Depending on the season, you'll find anything from Christmas wreaths and reindeer antlers on the front to propellers on the hitch. This isn't something I understand, but I feel confident stating it isn't SUV envy.
In Arkansas, another phenomenon emerged: the notion that you must let the car behind you know what the car in front of you is doing. There are a lot of winding roads in Arkansas and you could be in a string of 16 cars headed to who-knows-where when you realize that everyone in front of you has their left blinker on. You wonder what the heck your missing when you realize that only one of the 15 cars in front of you actually turned left.
Now I live in Atlanta. I'm here to tell you Atlantans are the most fearless drivers in the states. Speed limit signs mean nothing to them. They will drive as fast or as slow as they darn well please. These crazy drivers will tailgate within inches of your backseat. They'll swerve across three or four lanes of traffic to get to their exit and not even break a sweat. They think STOP signs are merge signs.
I asked a life-long Georgian about his driving habits - why didn't he use a blinker? Didn't want to wear it out. Why didn't he wear a seatbelt - didn't want the government telling him what to do. Why didn't he come to a complete stop - he checked and he didn't see anyone, so it was okay.
I admit, I've gotten a ticket for not coming to a complete stop. It happened when I was a teenager driving my dad's truck. I slowed way down but it wasn't good enough and I think I had to pay $35 or something. It scarred me for life. I've never not come to a complete stop since then.
I'll also admit that I will make several right turns to avoid making a left turn because I can't stand confrontation of any kind. I don't want someone behind me getting upset because I didn't move fast enough in making that left turn. If I miss a turn or realize I'm going to miss my turn, I don't cut people off because I don't want them to get mad at me.
I'm a blinker freak. Everyone needs to use their blinker. It's just courteous to do so. I use my blinker when turning into my own driveway which is at the end of a cul-de-sac. Unnecessary maybe, but courteous - hell yeah!
And speed limits - yes, I got a ticket for speeding when I was a teenager, too. I've not gotten caught since then but not because I'm anal about speeding but because I'm just extremely good looking (just kidding!). Seriously, I live in Atlanta where most everyone drives fast, I fit right in.
What really, really bothers me is when I allow a certain amount of time to get somewhere and a slow driver gets in front of me and adds minutes to that trip. It drives me crazy. I can't just follow him and enjoy the scenery - well actually I could - when it happens it seems they are driving slow enough I could get out and smell the roses. It seems these slow drivers are on the backroads - on my backroads - and their impeding my progress.
I'm a different person when I'm driving. I must have a split personality as I can go from the complacent obedient person that I am to a raging idiot. I just hope Jesus doesn't come when I'm in my car...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Facial Hair
I spend an excessive amount of time getting rid of excess hair on my body, particularly my face. I don't think I'm an overly hairy person, per se - I mean, I don't have back hair or anything. I take that back - I have ONE back hair - it grows out of a mole in the small of my back. When it's long enough to grab, I yank it out. I have another of those on the back of one arm - same scenario. What scares me most is that it's pretty darned long before I see it - who sees it before it I do?
Anyway, I have facial hair issues at the moment. Actually for the past couple of years. I have a bit of a moustache. It's blond and I can't see it myself unless the sun hits it just right in the bathroom mirror, which means that maybe I catch it once every couple of months or so - usually on a Saturday morning after walking. It stays fairly soft - sometimes I can feel it moving if I'm outside on a breezy day, and that's another clue it's time to come off. I run to the nearest hair salon and have it waxed off.
In the corners of my smile (a reason NOT to smile) are three dark whiskers. They aren't soft, and they aren't blond. They're dark and stiff and grow straight out. Those I can see. I spend quite a bit of time in the bathroom looking for those dark whiskers and when I find them...PLUCK! They're gone. For a month or so. Lately I've noticed more and more whiskers. These aren't dark. They're invisible to the eye. They sprout from my chin. I have to feel for these because I can't see them. I can't see them on my chin but when they land in the sink, I wonder how I couldn't see them.
I consulted a laser hair removal specialist about getting rid of the troublesome hair and was told that lasers will only work on dark hairs and mine simply aren't dark enough. So it's up to me to keep my face hair free, smooth to the touch, kissably soft, etc. As I said, I spend a fair amount of time on this particular task.
The other morning, I got out of the shower and towel dried my hair. I pulled the towel away and with my damp hair going every which way, I inspected for the latest facial hair growth. I didn't find any in the smile corners, and I didn't find any on my chin. Instead, I found one growing out of the middle of my forehead.
It was so white it glowed. It was nearly an inch long. I can't imagine where it has been hiding all this time. At first I figured it was a stray hair from the top of my head and attempted to swipe it away, but it kept reappearing. I realized it was a part of me when I was finally able to get a hold of it and actually pulled skin away from my forehead in that attempt. Out came the tweezers. The hair was so fine the tweezers couldn't get it. It wasn't quite long enough for me to get a good grip with my fingers, either. I tried both and gave up.
Yep, it's still there.
When I get old(er), it will be up to my daughters to keep me respectable looking by tweezing or wheeling me out of the nursing home for a quarterly waxing. Who loves you, girls? Your Momma!
Anyway, I have facial hair issues at the moment. Actually for the past couple of years. I have a bit of a moustache. It's blond and I can't see it myself unless the sun hits it just right in the bathroom mirror, which means that maybe I catch it once every couple of months or so - usually on a Saturday morning after walking. It stays fairly soft - sometimes I can feel it moving if I'm outside on a breezy day, and that's another clue it's time to come off. I run to the nearest hair salon and have it waxed off.
In the corners of my smile (a reason NOT to smile) are three dark whiskers. They aren't soft, and they aren't blond. They're dark and stiff and grow straight out. Those I can see. I spend quite a bit of time in the bathroom looking for those dark whiskers and when I find them...PLUCK! They're gone. For a month or so. Lately I've noticed more and more whiskers. These aren't dark. They're invisible to the eye. They sprout from my chin. I have to feel for these because I can't see them. I can't see them on my chin but when they land in the sink, I wonder how I couldn't see them.
I consulted a laser hair removal specialist about getting rid of the troublesome hair and was told that lasers will only work on dark hairs and mine simply aren't dark enough. So it's up to me to keep my face hair free, smooth to the touch, kissably soft, etc. As I said, I spend a fair amount of time on this particular task.
The other morning, I got out of the shower and towel dried my hair. I pulled the towel away and with my damp hair going every which way, I inspected for the latest facial hair growth. I didn't find any in the smile corners, and I didn't find any on my chin. Instead, I found one growing out of the middle of my forehead.
It was so white it glowed. It was nearly an inch long. I can't imagine where it has been hiding all this time. At first I figured it was a stray hair from the top of my head and attempted to swipe it away, but it kept reappearing. I realized it was a part of me when I was finally able to get a hold of it and actually pulled skin away from my forehead in that attempt. Out came the tweezers. The hair was so fine the tweezers couldn't get it. It wasn't quite long enough for me to get a good grip with my fingers, either. I tried both and gave up.
Yep, it's still there.
When I get old(er), it will be up to my daughters to keep me respectable looking by tweezing or wheeling me out of the nursing home for a quarterly waxing. Who loves you, girls? Your Momma!
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