(You’ll understand the title a little later. It makes me chuckle a little too hard.)
At one time, I had extra time to get all dressed up for a date, including actually shaving my legs. I’m talking really shaved, not just the quarter leg quick shave. I could look close in a mirror to pluck crazy eyebrow hairs and apply makeup slowly.
This particular date I’m reflecting on went really well. Great conversation, delicious food. I actually felt pretty. When you feel pretty, you tend to hold your head a little higher. You’re body language changes, you’re a little taller.
After dinner, we decided to go outside and continue talking. It was perfect weather, the sun was just starting its slow, downward journey. I’m soaking in the perfection of the night. Then I notice he’s acting uneasy.
He keeps staring at my neck. That sudden flush of anxiety creeps up my chest, past my neck and into my cheeks. Without even touching them I know they’re hot. What’s he looking at? Why is he acting funny? I can no longer stand it, so I ask.
He looks down, contemplating his answer, and says, “Um, so you have this hair.” What the? A hair? He’s looking at my neck right? I ask for further explanation. He continues on to say the sun reflected on a hair growing from my neck and by the look on his face it must be a humdinger. At this point I’m imagining a mohawk starting at my chin and ending at the base of my neck. I don’t dare feel, in case I’m right.
I want to slip unnoticed into my car and drive away without even starting the engine, that would draw too much attention. How can one little hair cause such chaos? Instead, I stand on the sidewalk on this now imperfect date and actually say, “Can you get it off of me?” Who am I right now? Do I live to torture my poor self? Why would I ask that? He says he’ll try.
We stand there, the restaurant is getting busier. People are passing by at a faster pace. It’s like those videos where the person stands still as life continues on all around them. He pushes my head back and comes at me with his thumb and index finger poised and ready. Within one second he grabs, pulls and ever so nonchalantly says, “Got it.”
I opened my eyes. When did I even close them? I should have left them that way, because what I saw next has horrified me ever since. He was standing there, a picturesque sunset right behind him, holding a thin, blonde hair as long as his finger.
Let’s take a minute to let that sink in, shall we? Somehow, this hair has been sprouting off my neck over days or weeks or possibly my entire life and I’ve never noticed it. I’m questioning everything. The quality of my mirrors, the effectiveness of my contacts, the integrity of everyone I’ve ever been in contact with. Who else has seen this finger length hair? How did I never feel it waving in the wind? Are there others? Oh my word, are there others?
I had to leave. I carefully retrieved the hair from his hand, briefly considered keeping it for Guinness record purposes, but ultimately decided it should blow away into the night. We looked at each other. Things had changed between us that could never be fixed. We’d seen things that night that couldn’t be unseen.
We quietly got into our car and drove home in silence. Turns out, this was a married date. He was stuck with me. He had vowed to love me forever and to hold me through sickness and health and stay by me through better or worse. That now includes rogue, finger length neck hair incidents.
Anyone else out there brave enough to share their rogue hair story?
Please like, follow and share!