I first noticed you several years ago when I looked in the mirror to put on my make-up one morning. There it was...something black poking out of my chin. At first, I thought maybe you were just a stray hair, one that I could just brush you away. But then you didn’t brush. That is when I had the horrifying realization that you were attached. To my chin. My 20-something year old chin. There you were in all your coarse, black glory sprouting your prickly head out of the bottom of my chin. Of course I immediately plucked you away and just assumed you were a rogue, one-time visitor. But you were not. You kept coming back, for years...and now, I’ve had enough. I want you to know that I truly hate your guts. Really. I fricking hate you with every fiber of my being.
Where do you come from? Why do you think that my chin is a good place to call your home? Everyone knows that women are not supposed to have facial hair. Perhaps you are seriously confused. I’m not a man. Let me prove it to you. I can’t do any of the things that men can do…like I can’t pee standing up; I don’t adjust myself in public; I don’t greet people by looking at their chests; and I didn’t have a beard…at least until you started showing up unannounced and unwelcome on my chin.
Now, I know that one measly black chin hair every now and again is not the end of the world. Maybe not to you anyway. But I don’t want you. I never wanted you. All you are is a terrible reminder that I am slowly turning into a masculine old hag. A reminder that things just steadily go downhill as we age. A reminder that I will just get fatter, sweatier, and hairier with each passing day. It’s only a matter of time. What’s next, a mustache? Don't get any ideas for your little friends.
So, despicable, nasty black chin hair. I loathe you. Take the hint and GO AWAY. You are not welcome to take residence on my chin. Take this letter as a warning…If I see you again, I’ll pluck you immediately and possibly consider laser-removal. Watch it, you asshole.
Me and my chin