Once Upon A Hair

This is a story about minutia.  As my good friend and once-upon-a-time-9th-grade-English-teacher pointed out, my stories tend to be more of an inspection or expansion of smaller moments and things.  Turning the magnifying glass on them and bringing out the beauty or interest that might otherwise be missed.  He's right.  It bothers me that we spend so much time distracted or busy or puffed up with self-importance that we can often steamroll right over the small things.  Over picture-perfect moments lived quickly and then POOF! gone.  Over voiceless or penniless or marginalized people.  To me, this is tragedy and a serious waste of time on this planet.  What I write, it wells up and out naturally from a spring deep within me that seems to give without end, and because it does, I can only surmise that this is what I am intended to write. At this point in time, I don't seem to be too hung up on plot development, thematic elements, and all the other bally-hoo which attends the best short stories or personal essays.  Perhaps one day.  But for now, I'm having way too much fun, and feeling far too purposeful, with this.  If you are reading my blog on a regular basis, you either feel indebted to do so out of loyalty or some such attendant sense of responsibility . . . or . . . OR . . . you happen to like the style in which my particular words flow.  I'm thankful either way.

Now.  On to the story.  Prepare yourself.  This entry may fall more under the heading of 'fun' than 'purposeful.'  But YOU be the judge! 

  Yes, this is the face of Gloria.  As with any face, even those more beautiful and symmetrical than mine, the longer one looks at a face, the stranger it seems.  The features appear to be mismatched.  Out of place.  In a jumble.  My face as seen here is squeaky clean after the 3-step Proactiv regimen to which I adhere most mornings and nights.  As my husband has so adoringly pointed out in the past, my eyes without glasses in front of them appear to be slightly crossed -- maybe to match my front teeth?  My left nostril is slightly higher than the right; and my nose itself is a bit wide.  My husband, by the way, thinks it's perfect.  There are crows-feet which have nothing at all to do with my birdwatching but everything to do with ageing.  Dark under eye circles from allergies and poor sleeping habits.  Because of slightly imbalanced plucking, one eyebrow raises a tad higher than the other.  There is a rather large pore on my forehead: a leftover scar from a particularly aggressive bout of face-picking at least a decade ago.  And due to a convergence of female hormones and sunlight in an unflattering mix, my skin is unevenly discolored from a condition knows as 'melasma.'  I'm vain enough to abhor it.  But obviously not too vain to post this picture for your scrutiny.

The other thing about this face is that a very white and habitual hair continually springs from a single spot on my forehead.  No matter how many times I inadvertently catch it in various stages of length and remove it by the root, it stubbornly refuses to remain gone.

Can you see it from this angle?  I can't.  But there is a pretty nice view of that pore I was telling you about.  Did you know that compulsive picking of the skin is referred to as 'dermatillomania?'  I learned this from one of my readers.  She also happens to be a great friend AND my aunt.  Though she could read my blog out of loyalty, I'm pretty sure she actually enjoys the writing and subject matter.  After this entry, however, she may choose to withdraw her support!  "Gloria WHO?  Nope, never heard of her.  Can't say that we're related in any way, shape or form.  I've not seen hide nor HAIR of her!"

How about now?  Still no?  Good.  Because it's still an 'I can't see it, either!' for me, too.

Oooh!  Oooh!  I think I've stumbled upon it!  You see it now?  I do.  I do!
The wee little hair that could . . . and DID.

Do you wonder why this very strong and tenacious hair is so very long?
Did my vision diminish and thereby render my glasses and contacts useless?
Am I cultivating a crop of random body hairs, eschewing tomatoes and basil?
Are you grossed out yet?

(Does a color shot bring home the reality of this anomaly a bit more effectively?)

Well, the truth is: this was an experiment.  Just how far into the world would this facial intruder extend without my interference?  Why not make this otherwise useless little white hair serve a purpose?  Would anyone else notice it if I allowed it to intentionally lengthen?  At the time of my decision, it made perfect sense.  To ME, I must stress.  My husband goes along with my strange ideas as long as they don't cause harm to myself, others or his guitars.  Or interfere with the Broncos football schedule.

But then the time for me and my slightly crossed eyes to get serious rolled around.  After all, these shots were snapped off in the bathroom of our Florida resort condo during our family trip through my husband's employer.  The employee awards banquet was scheduled for later in this day.  It simply wouldn't do to sport an 1 1/2-inch forehead hair to the gala.  The CEO's were NOT the people I wanted to amuse with my loosely based science project.  And, as aforementioned earlier in this show, I'm vain enough.  JUST enough.  Not more.  Not less.  I wanted to look spiffing for my hubby!

 
So-o, out came the Revlon tweezers.  And OUT came the hair.  Impressive, right?  Now, I'm not certain if I broke any records this time around, but there's always this winter.  It would be easy enough to allow it to mingle with my bangs or just fade into the paleness of my off-season face.  I'm thinking that's more like 2 inches!  Anybody got a ruler?  Better yet, anyone know the phone number to Guinness Book of World Records?  We may have a winner!