Confessions

Well past midnight, I stood squinting at the bathroom mirror.

I hate getting ready for bed. Taking out contacts, brushing teeth, washing off makeup, smearing on anti-acne junk, letting it dry before applying the OTHER anti-acne junk, flossing (in theory)… all so tedious.

If I started this rigmarole at, say, 9 PM, I’d be fine. But no, I wait until I’m completely exhausted. When one is half-asleep, trivial chores such as cleaning one’s own blankety blank blank teeth suddenly weigh heavy. “What, we’re washing this same, bumpy face again?” thinks the fluffy-haired girl in the mirror, “And brushing the teeth? My life is so hard! NO ONE KNOWS MY SUFFERING!!”

As I stood nodding sympathetically at the mirror girl, I noticed two dark, stray eyebrow hairs poking out. “Whoa,” I thought, “Those are so long, I bet I could pluck ‘em with my bare hands.” I reached up, grasped the hairs between my thumb and forefinger, and gave a slight tug. The hairs came away easily, painlessly.

That’s when I remembered; I’m not removing any body hair this month. That’s why I had those obvious hairs wavin’ in the breeze; any other month, I wouldn’t tolerate dark, stray hairs loitering between my lashes and eyebrows.

Damn. I’ve failed at my own goal—- only by two hairs, yes— but those were the two most ostentatious, irritating hairs on my whole body, so they should count at least double. (That’s one exciting development from this razor-free month; for the first time, I’m keenly aware of having “least favorite hairs”.)

Again, damn.

Luckily, there’s a song for times like this:

Listen carefully to the song; I’ve done three of the things Al mentions.

Your turn, readers! Any tiny confessions?

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