The setting:  in the car with Mr. Farish
The situation: Mr. Farish reaches across me inducing a sudden stinging sensation just right of my chin.
Me: "Ow, what was that?"
Mr. Farish: (smirking) "What are you doing, growing a beard?" to which he produces an industrial-strength chin hair the length of a bite-sized candy bar.
Me: slightly humiliated, yet equally fascinated and intrigued: "That came from me?"
Mr. Farish: "Looks like you’ve been growing this a while"
Me: "Do I have more?  No, you aren’t looking.  Do I have more?"
Mr. Farish: "No comment." 
The Return Home: Rush into the house, head straight for the bathroom, begin a thorough inspection of the facial area in an effort to extract all things long and wiry. 
The Findings: OK so I found some sproutlings.  Nothing near as long and hideous as that offensive wire so violently plucked moments earlier, but sproutlings none-the-less. 
The Aftermath: Daily inspection of the chin and upper lip with tweezers at the ready.
Why is it that when something as humiliating as chin sprouts happen, the first thing I do is reach for the phone to share the experience with my sisters?  Certainly not for sympathy.  Ever heard the expression laughing so hard I cried?  Yea.
Which then leads me to ponder the inevitablility that perhaps I am starting to turn into my Grandpa.  Is it not bad enough that we have to shave our armpits and legs (remembering to keep our bikini area tamed and tidy) to suddenly having to add a whole new routine into the daily repotoire?  Sharing my new-found insight, I am alerted to the fact that some women actually start to sprout nipple hair as well!  Oh that’s just great!  Nothing could possibly be as attractive as waking up one day to breast-pubes!  Which then leads to me wonder yet again; why is it that body hair is curly while the hair on my head lies as flat and straight as a kindergarten ruler?  Not fair that!  And hey, what’s with the super-strength, triple-thickness?  Some of those babes would respond better to pliers than a timid little pair o’tweezers.  Pogonophobia?  Suddenly I doubt that I have a fear of beards.  Nope, I think I have now developed a full blown case of chaetophobia, which if you think about it is certain to lead into some Bromidrosiphobia because after all, haven’t we all been told that hair harbors odors? Which will then induce Climophobia since there is destined to be some longing on the part of the spouse that you are no longer able to fulfill because of a newly developed Coitophobia due to the Eleuthrophobia associated with Gerascophobia because that’s what started the whole hair-growing thing in the first place!
Maybe I’ll just join the circus and be done with it!
Remember ladies, we pluck chickens, and tweeze facial hair.

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