There was I, working away quietly at my desk, tapping away at the keyboard.
There was C, sitting nearby, working too.
I gradually became aware he was watching me.
I looked up to smile with affection at him… and saw a look of undisguised horror on his face.
Before I could ask what was up he blurted out
“You have warty old lady hairs!”
I sniggered, but he repeated with no hint of humour (though a touch of sniggery was creeping into his voice)
“No, really, you have a mole, right THERE (jabs his finger at my cheek) and it’s got hairs growing out of it!”
I hotfooted to the bathroom, telling him not to be so puerile, expecting to see a couple of slightly denser downy face hairs.
Oh my no.
Ladies, prepare yourselves.
For it was not pretty.
In front of my ear, just where my hair fades into fine blonde downy stuff, I have a very faint mole.
And growing out of that almost-not-there mole were three hairs.
Three inch-long hairs.
Three inch-long, thick dark, crinkly pube-like hairs.
I kid you not.
Grabbing the tweezers I nabbed the bloody things out by the roots, accompanied to the gleeful chortling of he-who-is-old-but-unwanted-hair-free.
They were scary, and I’m now obsessed with checking. I’ve been walking round with these *things* growing out of my face for months, by the length of them.