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What's the big deal about Young Living

The Day I Grew a Mustache

Have you ever gone to an important meeting or event and wanted to look your best and then when you got there, after you had already talked to somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred people, including the most important and influential individuals present, you realized your zipper was down or your shirt was unbuttoned in an unfortunate place or you had something in your teeth?

Okay, I’m about to top all those horror stories just to make you feel better about your experience. It’s my way of giving back. My gift to you.

Last year I attended a certain blogging event, which had several blogging big-wigs in attendance.

I ended up sitting next to a very nice blogger who just so happens to be a rock star in the blogging realm. As in, if I told you her name, there’s a pretty good chance you know of her and have read her stuff.

As per my extrovert custom, I was yacking it up with her, talking about everything from our kids to our blogging strategies. At some point in the conversation she leaned in and whispered, “You … uh… have something on your (motions to mouth area)… uh…in your teeth.”

Of course, I was embarrassed that I had been talking to lots of people in the room with what I thought was probably a speck of pepper in my teeth, so I excused myself and started to make my way to the ladies room.

On the way, I was stopped by a Smockity reader who had been waiting to meet me, so I chatted with her for a while, even though I was anxious to get to a mirror and rid myself of that pesky speck of pepper.

I finally made it to the ladies room after being stopped by a couple more people, and I was able to look in the mirror.

What I saw made me hear the shower scene music from Psycho.

This was no speck of pepper, people.

There was a whisker. Growing out of my upper lip.

I kid you not. That thing must have sprouted after I left home (because I assure you I primped and groomed plenty before I left) and grown at the speed of sound, because it was the stuff mustaches are made of.

It was like a scene out of The Shaggy Dog. Or that werewolf movie with Michael J. Fox.

I left my house looking fresh-faced and well groomed.

And I showed up to an important event looking like this.

This was beyond embarrassing. I. Was. Horrified.

I frantically dug through my purse praying for a pair of tweezers to materialize, but of course there were none. Why hadn’t I listened to that worst case scenario show on the Discovery Channel???¬†I made a silent vow to always carry tweezers and one of the windshield puncture devices in case my van were ever to suddenly be submerged under water. And sharp scissors. Because I would need to cut my seatbelt to get out.

As it was, I was woefully unprepared for such a shocking, time-lapse worthy, growth of facial hair.

I tried my best to pull it out with my fingers. Nope. That sucker wasn’t budging. I finally resigned myself to dabbing some powder on it from my compact, and I swallowed my pride and walked back into the conference.

No one mentioned my mustache that day, but I learned a valuable lesson.

Your forties will betray you, friends. Always carry tweezers in your purse. And one of those windshield puncher-outers.

You never know.

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Comments

  1. LOL LOL :-)

  2. I call mine my “witch hair.” It grows on my chin. One day it won’t be there, the next day, it’s enough to make the Wicked Witch from Dorothy envious.

    Someday you’ll have to tell me who the blogger was. I have a good guess. I can totally see the person I have in mind cluing you in the whisker on your lip. :)

  3. Yea, I’ve got one too – grows in on the left side of my lip. One day it will be super long. I usually catch it as I’m inspecting my face after my evening showers. But I’m putting tweezers in my purse right now! Thanks for the wisdom! And a good laugh at your expense. :)

  4. Elizabeth says:

    The other day my 10 yo daughter and I (and 3 little boys who were sleeping) were driving back from a long day out. I mentioned friends of my husband who were coming to dinner. The first question my daughter asked was why the wife has a beard (there are a few hairs ). I was calm and cool. I didn’t burst out laughing. I calmly explained that its kind of a fact of life for women. Tweezers are a girl’s best friend. I promised that I would make sure she knows how to tweeze her face hairs. I also told her that I haven’t the slightest idea why this poor woman has facial hair and that I’ve only met her once and cannot tend her facial hair for her. I showed my daughter your post and she’s a little more accepting

  5. Elizabeth says:

    Thank you for the laugh! I am in my (late) TWENTIES and battle whisker hair. The first time I noticed one, I was 15 and on my way to my mother’s graduate school graduation ceremony. I had no idea what to do with it, and I wasn’t that experienced with tweezers at that age, so I ignored it and posed for the pictures…which, happily, did not show enough detail to highlight anything amiss in my facial area. But after more than a decade of pulling hairs out of my chin and upper lip, I’ve learned to check the mirror before I head out. I hate to think how bad it’ll get after a few more years have gone by in my life. I might have a full beard by the time I hit 40! ;)

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