Retirees have time on their hands. This phenomenon gives rise to random thoughts and imagination. I love to soak in the bathtub. Always have. But now in retirement mode, soaking has new dimensions.
1. I no longer disrupt my tranquility with stressful, guilty thoughts of what I could be doing instead of relaxing. The fact is there’s nothing I “should” be doing and therefore a pleasant soak is a top priority.
2. My sister provides me with delightful scented bath products from Molten Brown. Everyone knows I have a proclivity to heady scents and today’s intoxicating version of Ylang Ylang is now my new favourite. That could easily change since I have a couple of scents left in my sampler pack from Christmas.
3. A bath provides necessary muscle relief from overdoing it at pickleball or other physical activities. I can actually apply some of the yogic breathing techniques and feel the tension leave my muscles. It’s therapy at its finest.
4. As I lather the scented bubbles into my hair and over my skin it occurs to me that I have very little body hair. My friend says that as we age we lose our hair; she calls it fallen feathers. I tend to agree; there’s just less hair where it should be. But more than desired where it shouldn’t.
I lie back to ponder the matter of hair. I’ve never had tons being a fair person. Even my head hair is sparse and fine. I have a friend who inherited her dads bushy dark brows; we’ve often mused if the curtains match the rug. She good naturedly assures ya that indeed it does. And it’s more like the national forest than a rug. Good to know. I wonder if her feathers will fall?
It’s the unwanted hair growth that has me baffled. Seriously. Whiskers and chest hairs are not for females. It’s just not right. My sister is the expert freelance dermatologist; she can find even the most obscure misplaced follicle and wreak havoc. She’s the friend who would not only tell you that there’s something in your teeth; she would dig it out, too. She’s very helpful like that. I think she’s secretly addicted to Dr Pimplepopper and lives vicariously through the extractions.
There’s certainly more weird hairs appearing now than before. But I’ve had a moustache for years. Not so subtlety pointed out by my husband in our early married years on the ski slope. At the base of the run he tells me point blank: you’re moustache is frozen. Horrified I grab my goggles to use as a mirror. And there, in full frozen glory, is a perfect upper lip moustache. I quickly lick it off. And run at the next opportunity to the salon for a wax. The horror.
Now it’s the chin whiskers. They are coarse and stubborn. Not even waxable. They need a power pluck. It’s so satisfying to feel the tweezers grab onto to the stubble and escape from the follicle. Sometimes I have to look closely to see if it left a crater it’s so thick. Satisfied momentarily knowing that the next day another one (or more) will appear in the empty space.
It’s the fine long hairs that are easily missed by the naked eye or the feel of exploring finger tips. I would be remiss if I didn’t share the story of my friend’s encounter with a demon hair. We were standing in the wintry sunshine in front of a restaurant waiting for another friend to arrive. We are bundled up for cold weather in spite of the sun; coats and scarves. In the bright sun I notice a white hair on my friends scarf. She has a blond dog and all dog owners know the issues of fur shedding. I reach over to pull off the hair. And as I tug it from the scarf my friend winces and says ouch! OMG! That’s not fur and it’s attached to her neck! I offer to remove the offensive stray hair and as I pluck it out we examine it closely. It’s long! At least 2 inches. And it’s white! We have our topic for lunch discussion.
It was foreshadowing…..
We all have those unwanted hairs now! Most of them don’t match the rug or the drapes! Please .. let these feathers fall! If heredity is an indication I’m in trouble. My mom has plenty of facial hair that my sister admonishes me for not grooming. I’m in denial.
Just for good measure I’m going to shave my legs. I need reading glasses to see if my underarms are ok. Might as well do them too …