Chin Hairs & Other Nasty Surprises ~ Humour In Lieu of Night Cream
Posted: Tuesday, September 01, 2009
by Camille Strate
JoyZAChoice
I have a new Blog. It's a 'just for
fun' Blog that I was inspired to start after seeing the movie "Julie
and Julia". LOVED that movie. I actually laughed so hard I thought
I was going to pee my pants. Not kidding. Happily, I didn't. But
sitting there in the cool theatre on a very hot Southern California
day with all those women, most of whom were of Julia Child's era, was
about as awesome an experience as I've had in a very long time. I'm
absolutely certain I was the youngest woman in the full-to-capacity
theatre that day. And my incessant giggling was probably tolerated
only because of this fact. Honestly, though, Meryl Streep was hilarious!
Anyway...back to the Blog. So, I come
out of the theatre, still giggling like a loony bird, and got to
thinking about all the many Blogs out there and how one such woman
(Julie; the real person who was found because of her Blog on Julia
Child) could have had such a following on her (Blog) as to be found
and then published. It's really pretty amazing stuff, when you
consider the odds. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to
stretch outside my comfy little writing cubbie and see what I could
really do...beyond what I've always done.
My other Blog has been up for nearly 2
years. I have a few 'loyal followers' who read it every day, but it's
not gotten as much attention as I'd hoped. That certainly doesn't
stop me from attending to it. I'm stubborn like that. But I've
always written about lots of 'phoofey' stuff, like Joy and Gratitude
and Hope. Not that those are bad things to write about. But it's my
'niche'. And niches can be a detriment when you're an artist (of any
kind). It's just not conducive to growth, ya know? So.....
I came home and got on my computer,
still giggling each time I thought about this scene or that. I could
still hear Meryl's voice (she sounded and looked uncannily like Julia
Child. Kind of mind-blowing!) and each time I recalled a particular
scene, I'd start laughing all over again. This led me to thinking
about how gracefully Meryl herself has aged. I mean, she looks
FABULOUS! And there's no doubt she still has the passion for life
that she's always had.You can see it in her whle countenance. I so admire that in people. I also admire
people, men or women, who have no fear of aging. The ones who're
quite comfortable in their skins with no need for cosmetic surgeries
or other ridiculous methods with which to 'hide' their age. I just
never had gotten that. Not to mention how some of those people (Joan
Rivers...are you insane???) are so out of control with this obsession
that they turn themselves into freak shows. It's utterly and
absolutely one of the saddest things ever. As I thought about all
this, I got to thinking about how well my own women folk are aging.
My mom died fairly young (well, to me she was young; a mere 58 years
old) but her sisters are all still here (on the planet, that is) and
they range in age from 63 to 80. You'd never know it to look at them.
They're all as vibrant and alive as they've ever been. Sure, they
have wrinkles and stuff, but they're active and have terrific sense(s)
of humor (how do you say that in the 'plural'???) and they just keep
on tickin', as if their age has no bearing whatsoever on their
lives. Very inspiring indeed.
Since I'm of this grand and graceful
genetic pool, I suspect that I, too, will age gracefully. I'm in my
early 50s now...and still people don't believe me when I tell them.
There could be a myriad of reasons why this is, besides genetics. But
I truly do believe that it's more about one's attitude than it is
anything else. And, in my world, humor is the absolute essential
to staying 'young'.
As I
sat there in front of my computer, with all these things running
through my pretty little brain, (wait. Pretty BIG brain?!), I
suddenly had this splendid thought:
How
would Sophia Loren react to aging? Miss Sophia is nearing 80 herself.
And, yes, I'm well aware she's had her share of surgeries. Why
wouldn't she? She's a movie star from an era that believed strongly
in beauty over talent. Besides, if it makes her happy, and she
doesn't look like some freak. Not condoning.
Just accepting. But I digress (again!)
What
would Miss Sophia say if she weren't an elderly Hollywood icon? How
would she react to all the nasty little surprises that we uncover as
we age? Would she find humor in such things or would she be hiding in
her posh bedroom, slathered in oils, creams and tonics, trying to
undo what life had done to her physical presence?
Thus
the new Blog was born:
Chin
Hairs & Other Nasty Surprises ~ {How To Age Like Sophia Loren OR
Humour In Lieu of Nightcream}
Yes. I
know. It's a long title for a Blog. I don't care. I think it's funny
and that's the whole point.
Funny.
Aging can be dreadful or funny. As can life in general. It's always
about how we choose to look at it. From my perspective, I'd sooooooo
rather laugh at things than fear them. What's the point in being
afraid? It sure isn't going to turn back the clock, nor will it lend
to any sort of joyful experience. And, for those of you who've read
my pieces before, you already know how I feel about the 'joy' thing.
Choices.
Choices. Choices.
Now
that I've written a dissertation on why I
started this new Blog, maybe I should share one of the posts. Gee.
What a novel idea! Here goes:
Nobody had to tell me I was going
to have chin hairs when I got older. I'm Italian. All Italian women
have chin hairs. It's just how it goes. I think it's an
overabundance of testosterone which is why so many Italian men adore
their mamas in the first place. And all that doting and good
food and repeated assurances to their sons that they are indeed the
most gorgeous men alive and no woman will ever be good enough.
Italian mothers have no desire to see their sons marry well. There
couldn't possibly be a woman on the planet who'll ever measure
up. And that's that.
But back to chin hairs. My mother had them although hers weren't
quite so visible for some odd reason. Maybe she wasn't quite so
overloaded with testosterone. Not sure. My grandmothers also had
them. So did their mothers. And their mothers. And I'm sure
if there were photos of the women before them, they'd all show the
same. Chin hairs and mustaches. Women didn't try to remove them
back then. I think it was some kind of badge of honor. Like, ‘I
raised 9 boys and I have every right to have chin hairs. No
self-respecting mother has a hairless chin. How ridiculous.'
So even though it wasn't a huge surprise to find them on that
oh-so-early-in-my-thirties day, I was taken aback when I found so
many. I mean…how could they just all of a sudden show up just like
that….in such vast numbers? And…it's not as if they're all
soft and fuzzy either. Oh no. We're talking about little black
thorns sticking out of your face. All stiff and prickly and BLACK.
Ugh. It would've been nice if somebody woulda warned me about that.
And just how much time it was going to take for me to manage them.
We're talking twice a day, every single day, til death do us part.
It's its very own part time job. There's no money in it, of
course, but you have to do it no matter what. You can't just say,
‘well, I'll get to it tomorow.' Oh no. That won't do at all.
Skip a day of plucking and the next morning you wake up looking like
a middle aged man after a 3 day binge at the local pool hall. It
feels like somebody stuck a miniature boot scraper on your chin while
you were asleep. Imagine what that might be like if you happen to
have a man lying in bed beside you, and, upon awakening finds himself
in an amorous morning mood. He reaches over to stroke your face and
gently kiss you awake, still half asleep himself, only to find the
face he's caressing feels like the 90 grit sandpaper he used to
refinish the dining room table. Probably a bit terrifying for the
guy, you know? So no you can't skip a day. You must scan your chin
with the scrutiny of your mother-in-law's eagle eyes when she walks
in your house every year at Christmas to see just how many of the
family ornaments have been hung on your tree. Twice a day.. every
day. At night, just prior to going to bed because of course you don't
want your man getting all frisky and then finding them with his
delicious lips as he makes his way from your mouth to the more
southern regions. Talk about buzz kill. And then, first thing
in the morning, when of course you awaken before he does so you can
dash into the bathroom and pull out those suckers that popped out
during the night. How the hell do they grow so long in 8 hours? And
why doesn't the hair on my head grow that fast? It takes 3 months
to grow an eighth of an inch of hair on my head, but my chin will
grow hairs that are an inch long overnight. It's a miracle. Only
not the kind of miracle I was hoping for. Crap.
Oh sure. You're over there saying, ‘Hey Lady. They have this
thing called laser hair removal .' Yea. Well let me tell
you right now. Laser hair removal is for normal women. Italian women
don't have normal chin hairs. My younger sister did this. The
doctor told her she'd have to go about 6 times over a 6 month
period to get them all. So she did. Problem was that by the time
she'd gotten to session 6, a whole new crop of follicles had
somehow reproduced only this time the hairs were white. No problem,
you say? You can't see those. Yea. But you can feel them. And
they're even more stiff than the black ones. The doc says, 'sorry.
Can't do anything about those. The laser needs pigment to find the
follicle. You'll have to pull those out yourself.'
Back to the tweezers.
If
you'd like to read more of this silliness, the link is:
Hi Camille.Well then, I must be Italian too! This was hilarious and so true. And I just love the title of your blog. It made me laugh right off. Thanks for sharing all of this.Hugs,DianneP.S. We're going for that walk now.
