Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin

Somewhere between the end of our third decade and the beginning of our fourth, it is a cruel cosmic irony that most women will begin to grow chin hair at the precise time that our vision is too blurry to pluck it. Peri-menopause is not for the faint of heart (or vision). And even as I write this, I am sure there is another woman like me somewhere – sitting on top of the sink, wearing bifocals, with face bent forward just mere millimeters from the mirror, straining mightily in a life-or-death struggle with an offending chin hair.

I have never worn glasses a day in my life – in fact, my vision has always been better than 20/20, except where my chin hairs are concerned. How is it that even though I check daily for them, there are always two or three that manage to elude my tweezerman? These hairs aren’t anything like the dainty flowers that blossom on my legs — does the term “prickly pear” mean anything to you?

But I digress, aging does have its benefits…I am much more confident than I was in my twenties. I see beauty in ordinary things. I have learned that relationships are like gardens and require careful tending and cultivation if I want them to grow. I am more relaxed about the cleanliness of my house since I’ve had three kids. I’ve realized that the laundry pile is never going to go away, and no matter how many loads I wash, there will always be one dirty sock that was missed. My bathrooms may not always sparkle, but my personality can, even when my spirits are in the toilet.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve learned to look on the bright side of things when life is at its dullest. And that is something that can’t be taken from me, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.

Technorati Tags: menopause, attitude, Texas