Shock horror my worst, well one of my worst, fears came to pass again today. When greeting a client, in the usual ‘kiss on the cheek’ manner, I felt the graze of stubble on my cheek or more specifically on my chin. I almost pulled back with violent revulsion and had my balance not relied on two crutches I may have succumbed! Of course had I done so the moment would have been broken with a comedy fall as my somewhat less than pert buttock hit the floor.
What pray was so horrifying about this you may ask? The answer is simply the person in question was a lady! So no frisson of sensual tingling that one gets from contact with the designer stubble of an attractive gentleman, oh no it was the fear of ‘is she feeling the same as me’! Had my morning’s preparations been adequate or had (as seems to happen more frequently these days) more minute porcupine like spines sprung out since I left the house? Have I got hedgehog genes in my DNA I sometimes wonder at 3 am on an insomniac night?
I have previously mused in a slightly paranoid fashion about my obsessive plucking of my own inherited facial hair (yes mother this is one thing I do blame you for)! Many times the beautician, whose establishment I frequent, has rolled her eyes at me whilst shaking her head and saying ‘you’ve been at it again haven’t you’. I have developed a bit of a tweezer habit which frankly borders on self harm given my shaky hands these days!
The consequence of avoiding developing an unsightly beard can be a sore chin but when it comes to avoiding the mono brow my eyelids come off rather less unscathed! Of late I have nipped the delicate flesh to bleeding on too many occasions and frankly I have yet to come up with a convincing excuse for scabs under my eyebrows! An unseasonal midge infestation in my boudoir is hardly credible in Barry in November.
I am intrigued as to how one gets such impressive stubble as that I encountered today. Surely it can’t just be re-growth? Perhaps my client prefers a close shave quite literally with a razor or even from a pair of sharp scissors. Pity one can’t ask such probing questions in polite company – socially acceptable behaviour prohibits insightful conversations.
I live in fear of my facial hair being caught in the wrong kind of light relieving that at my time of life the hormonal balance is getting out of kilter feeding my own form of facial fur! And on that note I have found myself fondling my own chin with the unpleasant feedback on my fingertips necessitating a final before bed close scrutiny session in the magnifying mirror ( that I had installed to indulge this most fundamental of tasks). Just a few minutes before I brush my teeth I promise no more than five – honest!