Please Shave Me If I Am In a Coma

ooh la la

My area of expertise is growing hair.  No, I’m not the carnival woman with a full beard and black Elvis chops sprouting out of my cheeks.  The bright side is that my crown is not thinning, and I have no sign of a widow’s peak.  However, I do have *ugh* these annoying little hairy spots on my chin and upper lip.  Yesterday I got tired of tweezing and impatiently shaved them off.  My mom used to complain of the same problem—“wild ass hairs” was her name for them.  Sliding into menopause has just accentuated my facial hair problem.  I am pretty sure a trip to the salon for electrolysis will be my midsummer treat, if I can find the right time to secretly let the little rascals grow to the proper length for treatment…

Anyway, I once made my daughter promise to remove my facial hair if I should ever become comatose.  I’d hate to come back to consciousness and find all my friends had shunned me or simply not recognized me in my hospital lovelies.  “Who is that dapper man with Holly’s hair and a lush full beard?!!”  Tweezing would also work, but it wouldn’t be the most efficient way to do the job.  Running a Norelco across my face every day would suffice.

That’s right, shave me, maybe while you save me.

(Now here is a bloggers’ dilemma—if I tag this post with the word “coma,” will people find it while seeking a sensitive discussion and comfort while their loved one is in a coma?  Oh hell—the best thing to do is to remind them to shave their loved one.)

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~ by rebuildingholly on April 10, 2012.

2 Responses to “Please Shave Me If I Am In a Coma”

  1. I have given both daughters instructions to pluck those two annoying hairs–one on my right cheek, the other on the right side of my upper lip–when I don’t have the sense to do it myself (a few years from now).
    You put my sentiments to words so cleverly, my friend.

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