The Hair

My mother has a lot of moles. You know, beauty marks. And she's pretty freakin' beautiful because those things are all over her body. And I, sharing half her genetic material and half of my also-moley father's, am bloody gorgeous.

Some moles, however, are not so beautiful. They come in weird colours. Sometimes they're kind of lumpy. And some moles...well, some moles have The Hair.

Like the one on my mother's cheek.

And being that my mom is nearing 60 and uses reading glasses for things like menus and the Safeway coupons she gives me every time I see her, she's no longer able to see The Hair.

I think The Hair is one of those things that's out of sight out of mind and at this point she's forgotten The Hair ever existed. Besides, she gets a bunch of microdermabrasion and photo-something-wrinkle-blaster treatments, so maybe she thinks that if her wrinkles haven't survived, there's no way The Hair has.

Oh, it's survived all right. The Hair has prevailed.

So I, being understanding of people who need reading glasses and being the kind of person who will tell you if there's spinach in your teeth, have taken it upon myself to tell her when it's time to pluck.

Only it's always a quarter past Time to Pluck by the time I get to her and the thing is usually an inch long. And when The Hair is an inch long it, you know, curls. A curly freaking hair spiraling out of my mom's face. It's a travesty.

Also a travesty is that my parents just left for a six-month sabbatical in Australia and New Zealand. The Australia and New Zealand bit isn't a travesty, it's the six-month part. The Hair will be down to her waist by the time she gets back. She could get strangled in her sleep. She's halfway around the world and I won't be there to save her!

Maybe there's an international agency I can call.

But, right now, I think it's time to review two facts.

FACT #1: I have been rather preoccupied for the past few weeks, what with my bank balance going down like a DC-10 and my condo not renting and the seven thousand showings to seven thousand weird people and the casual little sidebar of the ENTIRE BOOK I'M WRITING.

FACT #2: I have my mother's DNA. A whole lot of her DNA. In fact, it's safe to say that half of me is my mother's DNA. Very, very safe to say that.

So, as I brushed my teeth before bed last night, trying not to stew over the really nice couple I was sure was going to rent my place but didn't, while scientifically examining the co-incidental occurrence of a zit emerging in the exact spot of one of my many moles, making that mole look on the large and scary side, I suddenly remembered that I have another mole on the left side of my jaw intimately related to my Mom's cheek mole in that it is also privileged enough to have The Hair.

I am fairly obsessive about the hasty and frequent removal of this particular hair. I usually pluck the thing before it even breaks the surface of my skin (which is funny because I think someone needs to take a weed whacker to my eyebrows right now). Despite that, I figured, as I enjoyed the vanilla-minty flavour of my Sensodyne Pronamel toothpaste (9 out of 10 dentists agree), that all was well with regards to The Hair.

No. It was fucking massive.

I'm talking LONG. Growing poker straight down the side of my neck, encroaching on my collarbone. Shrouding the entire left side of my face in its giant mole hair shadow.

I threw my toothbrush down and scrambled for my tweezers. Forget oral hygiene. This was a Code Red Hair Removal emergency. My heart was pounding so much from all the trauma, I needed a cocktail after that. I pulled out the mickey of rye I keep in my bedside table drawer for just such an emergency, took a shot and went to sleep.

And today, I'm thinking about how many days or weeks The Hair was there, hanging off my face for all to see. How many of my friends have seen it and not said anything? How many times has Boyfriend seen it? God. I'm surprised he hasn't divorced me. Although, he has been acting weird lately. All smiley and chatty and I-love-you-y. I don't get it.

Unless he's been all smiles to cover up for the fact that while I've been cultivating a foot-long, 4H prize-winning mole hair off my face, he's gone and found another girlfriend.