Dear Face,
I thought we were clear on this, but it seems you might have misplaced the memo: I’m not a man. I have zero interest in sporting a beard or any of the bizarre patches of hair you’ve taken it upon yourself to gift me. Seriously, can we just stop?
Maybe you’ve always dreamed of being a scalp and are giving it your one shot at that. I understand that everyone has aspirations. But, Face, my vision does not include looking like Dr. Phil or any Phil for that matter.
I overlooked your earlier attempts, like the brows that resembled two caterpillars making their way across my forehead. Once I stumbled upon tweezers in high school, I was able to achieve those trendy skinny brows every respectable 90s girl sported, and we were on good terms again. I didn’t even blame you; I was just relieved that managing my eyebrows was the only facial hair issue I had to deal with. After all, high school was tough enough without the added stress of a mustache. I wanted admiration from the boys, not envy over my hair-growing prowess.
But then adulthood hit, and things took a turn. Eyebrow maintenance felt like child’s play. I don’t know if it was adult hormones or some vendetta you had for me for all those plucked eyebrows, but suddenly, I had a full-on beard. One or two stray hairs would have been fine, but no—you decided to gift me a full chin carpet. If I didn’t stay on top of it, I’d earn myself serious hipster cred. It began with a few pesky black stubbles and escalated with each pregnancy. After four kids, I’d wager I could grow a more impressive beard than my husband. One day, I might just flaunt it, but today is not that day.
And let’s not overlook the upper lip situation. I had no idea I needed to manage a ‘stache until one morning, while carpooling to the gym, my friend casually asked, “Do you ever wax your upper lip?” It was meant to be a gentle suggestion, but I could see right through it. It replayed in my mind, a mix of gratitude and offense that prompted me to start waxing too.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I discovered three rogue black neck hairs not long ago. Really, Face? I can handle the betrayal of my own facial hair, but neck hairs? That’s just uncalled for.
Face, I’m pretty sure you’re tired of me yanking out hairs constantly, so let’s call a truce. Enough with the chin, lip, and brow hairs—there’s barely anything left except my eyelashes. And if those start acting up, I won’t hesitate to take action. I’m over dealing with hair in places that shouldn’t be sprouting. You have my permission to cease and desist at any time. How about sticking to what you’re supposed to do, like wrinkling?
I’m not thrilled about that either, but at least it’s in your job description.
For more on navigating the challenges of home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and learn about the journey couples take with this informative guide. And if you’re considering at-home options, this post about the Cryobaby home intracervical insemination syringe kit combo is a great read.
In summary, I’m done with the unwanted facial hair. Let’s make a deal: you can focus on your job of adding character through wrinkles, and I’ll handle the hair maintenance.
Keyphrase: facial hair management
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]