Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin...

5 days until my gynecology appointment to find out if, in fact, I am IN Menopause and how to proceed to relieve the misery.

I've stopped wearing my watch. The sound of the second hand was mocking my soul.

My mind is doing that neat trick- you know the one, symptoms escalate when resolution is near- it happens when you are two steps from a restroom on a long road trip and you think that you can't possibly make it another two seconds after holding it for hours... yeah, that. That is what my brain is doing.

The flashes have become rapid-fire and the mood swings are new. For now, I am going to focus on the funny parts of the situation to distract myself, for now.

In hindsight, -I have a feeling that I will be using that phrase a lot going forward, there were signs that hinted at peri-menopause; irregular bleeding patterns, dark blood, insomnia, rage (only for my ex; that may not be a symptom) and this one random LONG HAIR that sprouted from my chin, seemingly, overnight.

Maybe I should have known that the train was leaving the station.

Back to THE hair.

This happened 16 months ago.

I know exactly where I was when it happened, I even remember what I was wearing; my favorite sweater- a super delicate, soft weave of cashmere and mohair, with a mock neck, in the perfect, Rich Bitch toasted caramel, camel tone. I love that sweater. It matches my hair on a good root-cover day and it is absolutely ridiculous to wear in Los Angeles after 6am but the devil may care, I do it.

The mohair is important to this story because, initially, I thought that one of the strands had escaped the weave and was stuck in my spf or moisturizer or, even the edge of my glossed lips.

Mind you, this great discovery was made on The 10 in bumper-to-bumper traffic with the sun blazing through the windshield and I began to have what I called then a “claustrophobic shit fit“ now, what I suspect was a hot flash. At any rate, I was desperately, violently thrashing and struggling to get said sweater off as quickly as possible then fervently brushing any little hairs from my face when I felt IT.

IT was attached. To my face. And IT was LONG. Fu Man Chu, long.

It was nestled right underneath my jaw bone, tucked in flush against the skin as if to snuggle the underside of my chin. Now, I'd done a full on exfoliation the day before and I did not see hide nor hair (pun intended) of this not-so-little sucker so, I truly believe that it sprouted overnight which brings up even greater a full follicular questions.

More on that in another entry.

I plucked it in then and there, in the car for all to see. Laid it across the back of my hand, examined it. It was dark and straight and glossy and unlike hair that I’d ever seen on my body. I took a photo of it and sent it to my mother then blew it out the window. How weird I thought, it’s way too early for that sort of nonsense; better keep and eye out for failing elasticity. Looked closely at my eyelids and neck in the rear view mirror, made a mental note. Then, I forgot about it.

Three months later, it was back. Overnight and with one major difference: from the tip to mid-shaft was that same glossy, dark chestnut color but from the root to mid-shaft was WHITE. Evident was a mm or so of transitory color but the little fucker seemed to be evidence of some shift I my body. I made an appointment to have my hormones checked and was told to wait bc of Covid.

Another three months and, again, IT was back. The whole thing was white as the driven snow. I should have known.

Clearly, it is here to stay and now, it has two friends. Much smaller and less coarse, but there are three. Of course, I have named them: Dorothy, Rose and Blanche.

We'll talk about my brows later.