An Open Letter to My Chin Hair

Jan 23 2012

Dear Chin Hair,

When I was in the third grade, I had a costume party for my birthday.

I was a stop light.

This stop light is from Room Doodles, but if you imagine it with legs, arms, a head, really bad bangs and a lot of freckles, then you get the gist.

I’m pretty sure the reason I was a stop light was because my parents were all, “What can we do with an eight-year-old, a cardboard box, and some paint?” But what do I know, really? Maybe I had a thing for stop lights at age eight. Maybe I begged to be a stop light. I mean, God knows I like to control things. Maybe my parents were just accepting me on a core level. Maybe I should write them a thank you note for loving the me I am rather than spend precious moments of my life – moments that I will never get back – writing to my chin hair.

Or maybe I should spend my precious life moments creating cardboard stop light costumes in Mom Sizes. ‘Cause I could I totally use a stop light costume around here. “Hey, you. Yes, you. You GO to the bathroom and stop dancing around holding your penis. … And you. Yes, you. You STOP picking at your brother RIGHT NOW. … And you. SLOW DOWN before you hit the corner of the wall we have to go back to the hospital for more forehead stitches. PAY ATTENTION TO THE STOP LIGHT, YOU GUYS.”

Stoplight costumes for moms. I’m going to make meeeeeellions.

Anyway.

When I was kid, my mama had a rule. Because I was eight years old, I was allowed to invite eight friends to my party. It was the Number-of-Guests-per-Year-of-Age rule. An oldie, but a goodie. And so I invited Tracy, Wendy, Danielle, Stephanie, Dana and three Jennifers.

And that rule made sense when I was eight.

But, Chin Hair, somewhere along the way, I feel like you and I got our wires crossed. I think maybe you were there with me in 1981, under my skin, listening to that rule. And you mistakenly thought that it applied to you, too.

So you’ve been throwing kickin’ chin hair parties on my face for several years now, and I’ve noticed, you keep inviting more guests. While I truly and deeply admire your dedication to including everyone, all the time, now that I’m 38 years old, this whole Number-of-Guests-per-Year-of-Age thing is becoming a real problem.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this,

STOP IT!

Love,
Beth