beth woolsey

mess maker • magic finder • rule breaker • kindness monger

An Open Letter to My Chin Hair

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.


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,




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21 responses to “An Open Letter to My Chin Hair”

  1. LOL! I can so relate…I’m like Cathie above & keep tweezers in the car ’cause the lighting is the best. So when I’m sitting in the pick-up line & my daughter’s school in the afternoon…with all the cutesy soccer moms who obviously have nothing better to do all day than to work-out wearing cute work-out clothes and not have chin hair…I’m pluck, pluck, plucking away!

  2. Okay, what I want to know is how do you come up with this stuff??? I mean I have plenty of chin hairs too (seriously, will you come talk to mine as well???) but I never would think to write about them like this! I think I envy your brain… But not the chin hairs! 😉

    • My brain is a terrifying place, Krista. Entertaining. But scary. Mostly, I write like this because I have conversations with myself. Like this:

      “My chin hairs are getting out of control.”
      “No way! Mine, too!”
      “It’s like they’re having a party.”
      “A chin hair party? That’s gross.”
      “I know. I think I’m going to write about it.”
      “That’s even more gross. People should suffer in silence. Not write about chin hairs.”
      “It’s like that one time in 3rd grade when I was allowed to invite 8 friends to my party because I was 8, except now I’m 38 SO IT SUCKS.”
      “Was that when you were a stop light for your birthday?”

      And so on. And so on. And so on.

      I told you it was scary. I’m never bored or lonely, though, so there’s that.

      But thank you for the compliment! (I’m SO taking it as a compliment – part of the advantage of my skewed brain. ;))

      • I guess that’s what I get for not learning to talk to myself… 😉 And it was totally a compliment because I love reading here, you make me laugh and I need more of that!

        Also, isn’t there a way so that when you reply to a comment it emails the commenter (not just you) so they know you responded? ‘cuz I never would have seen your reply if I hadn’t wondered if you’d responded…
        I know I get emails like that from other blogs where the reply is on the blog, but also emailed to me. 🙂

  3. And it’s not like you pluck them, and you’re done. No, they just pop up willy-nilly when and where you least expect them. That’s why I keep tweezers in the car. For some reason, the lighting in the car is best for finding the little creepers. Argh!

  4. Well, I file it under things my mother DID tell me about. Because she used to make me pluck them!
    Also, she has tried to get me to cut off her skin tags.

  5. I have a coma friend, she knows if I am in a coma she must keep my eyebrows tidy and take care of those chin hairs. Best thing is – she is an esthecian so the job will be well done.

    Now that I am over 50 I need a magnifying mirror, along with the tweezers, sigh.

  6. Believe me. It only gets worse. And what I want to know is this: What’s the deal with chin hairs AND zits? I mean, c’mon. Give me a break.

  7. LOLOL!!! I had 3 Jennifers at my early childhood parties as well–there were 3 on my _block_ of 25 houses, and all in my grade. 🙂

    Good luck with the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin! (It’s moments like this when I appreciate that I’m a natural blonde…)

  8. To be filed under: things your mother never told you about!! So glad to know that I’m not the only one fighting this battle!

  9. I’m just so glad that I’m not the only one who deals with this. I mean, what is the deal, anyway? I’m a girl. My chin is clearly delusional… I keep tweezers in various places around the house to keep up with this madness.

  10. Funny you should post this today, as this morning I realized that if you don’t wear make-up all weekend, meaning you hardly look in the mirror for three days, those chin hairs can really whip up quite a party. Why did no one tell me I was looking like a lumberjack? Can it be that my family doesn’t really look at me? Surely not!

    • Truth: the Monday morning commute DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH STOP LIGHTS to take care of all the weekend hair growth damage. My tweezers + red lights = a presentable me. But those weekends? PHEWPH! That’s when they take back ground.

      Other truth: families never seem to notice. I assume that they’re not just being nice since they have plenty to say about my squishy middle, my stretch marks, my gray hairs, and my coffee breath.

      Other other truth: this is why we must have Coma Friends who will agree, should we find ourselves enduring prolonged, unconscious hospital time, to attend us for grooming sessions. They’re like Obi-Wan**; they’re our only hope.


      **not to be confused with OB-1, which is probably some kind of gynecological reference and offensive to Star Wars lovers everywhere

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