facial hair | Good Times with Jess

I’m officially 40! My Cape Cod and Alaska celebrations are in the rearview and middle age is stretching out ahead of me.

Wikipedia defines middle age as 45 – 65, so maybe I can delude myself for another few years.

All of a sudden I’m thinking about menopause, but wikipedia also mentions that I will now be beginning my cognitive decline, so maybe I’ll forget about it.

I’ve always had irritable mood swings with my period. I’m happy to warn Captain about them ahead of time, but beware the person who asks about it mid-PMS.

As much as my irritableness is unjustified, it is very hard to come to terms with that in the moment. That is what alarms me about menopause. How much of an emotional roller coaster will I be on and how long will it be until I feel like myself?

I understand that I might have another eight years before I need to worry about this, but it makes me even more nervous that no one is talking about it.

I feel like I was blindsided when I had my first baby and I don’t intend to be blindsided again if I can help it.

I’ve taken to crowdsourcing the topic at the beach. I’ve heard some interesting takes on it, including some people with no irritableness. Must be nice.

I jut my finger into Captain,

“What’s coming for him?”

Several beach buddies pipe up:

“Nothing.”

“A belly.”

Nothing or maybe nothing with a belly. Grrrumph.

The talk turns to how popular botox has become. If I had some extra money to throw around, the first thing I’d do is get some hair lasered. Maybe that’s next year’s birthday present.

As I contemplate my inevitable decline, I wake up with my right eye swollen shut. A stye one day before my birthday. One day before I’m trying to look forty and fabulous at a fancy dinner. I’m beside myself.

Every spare moment I had was spent hanging over the sink with a warm washcloth pressed against my eyeball. And every spare thought willing it to go away.

Sunglasses and a tiara did wonders to disguise it at the beach.

By dinner time it was much better and makeup took care of the rest. I’ve never been happier to return to my status quo.

Bring it on middle age. I’ll take what I’ve got, minus the mood swings, stye and chin hair.

Yes I really wore my tiara to the beach.

Black Lives Matter. Defund the police now. Recognizing my white privilege and continuing to educate myself. That’s where I’m at.

I’ve been procrastinating blogging. A fluff piece about my facial hair and the lengthening inseam of my shorts, didn’t feel like a constructive addition to current events.

I contributed funds. It’s what I can do while I cower in a corner counting my toilet paper rolls and wondering what happened to that virus.

I don’t want to wish away the summer, but I’ve read Dr. Seuss’ One Vote, Two Votes, I Vote, You Vote and I’m ready for November.

Things are reopening. Captain and I are not in total agreement about what we should and shouldn’t be doing. We’ve done zero take-out. I tell Captain,

“I want to get a haircut and I’d like BB to get one too. What do you think?”

“Does she need a haircut?”

Does anyone NEED a haircut? I don’t need Chinese food either, but it sure would be a nice break from whatever we’ve been eating out of the freezer. Last night BB said,

“When are you going to cook dinner on the stove again?”

Whenever you go to school.

As the day of my haircut approached I panicked. Aside from my adoring family, no one has been close to my face in months. The state of my facial hair is like the current cleanliness level of our home. I can’t be bothered.

Without my usual waxes, I tried to tweeze. Tweezing my upper lip is torture. I pull one measly hair and tears are streaming down my face.

Then I remember: I have to wear a mask! It will cover all stray facial hairs. Phew.

I mention my facial hair during our zoom book club. I’m informed that the Tinkle razor is the way to go. Ordered. I’ll try it and worse case scenario I’ll start wearing my mask at home.

A week ago I slipped into a pair of shorts. They felt funny. I was pregnant last summer so I haven’t worn my regular summer clothes in 2 years. The shorts fit fine, but there was something not quite right.

I contemplate them in the mirror. Is the 4 inch inseam too short? It seems like yesterday I bought them because my 2-inch, inseam shorts felt too short.

It also doesn’t feel like that long ago that I got sent home from junior high for wearing too short shorts. I couldn’t understand who would wear shorts with ANY inseam.

Last week I ordered some with a 5 inch inseam. I tried them on yesterday. NOPE. I’m not ready for 5 inches.

I ordered a dress too. I’m not thrilled with it. But then it crosses my mind: “this is the perfect house dress!”

House dress. That’s also where I’m at.

Gonna spend this summer living it up with my moderately short shorts, take-out dinner and a Black Lives Matter vigil. It’s gotta be done.

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