I didn't expect it. Who does?

They never told me about this when I was younger. But in the past couple of years, as I have ambled (sometimes gracefully, sometimes not) into my late forties and the joys of menopause, my chin has started to sprout hairs. Could be longer than a couple of years, because my eyesight is going, and I now can't see anything close up. But there they are. Chin hairs. Hairs on my chin. My chin, for crying out loud. Did this happen to Elizabeth Taylor and Sophia Loren? They never said anything about it, if it did. I mean, would you?

I'm only mentioning the fact because I believe that there must be more women out there that are dealing with the hassle of being presbyopic (I had to look that one up -- it's what happens when you get older, and the lens of your eye can't handle the drama of it all), myopic, astigmatic, and who have to buy those little tweezers you can get now with a light built in, so you can shine a steady beam on your CHIN HAIRS (ye gods. The ignominy of it pains me to the quick) and pluck them out. Are you out there, ladies? Am I alone? Should I join the circus?

I can't categorize it as a beard -- I mean, I'm not hirsute, and the chin growth isn't enough to warrant a triple-bladed razor. And my upper lip is clear. I can easily pluck the few hairs out as they grow (when I can manage to get them in focus in the mirror, with my little spotlight shining on them), and people don't stare at me in the street or shriek when they see me. I could probably go get electrolysis to remove them completely, if I had enough loose change lying about. It's the thought of it that bothers me so much. I never used to have visible hairs growing on my chin -- just that soft, light down we all have on our faces that we never even notice. What did I do to deserve them now?  WHY ME?!

Searching for information on the web, I found several references to Schizophrenia being known as "The Bearded Lady Disease." That made me rather dis-eased (as in uneasy), I can tell you. But further investigation reassured me that this heart-breaking mental illness usually manifests itself much earlier in life. And that it has nothing to do with beards. At all. But I did find accounts from all kinds of women advising different methods of dealing with the perpetrators of aforementioned prickly shock. From waxing to hair-removal creams (they stink, don't they? I mean, really pong something dreadful), all agreed that I'd just have to get used to the fact and deal with it.

I don't want to deal with it! I want to have my smooth face again! Excuse me while I stamp my foot and whinge!

Ok, glad I got that off my chest (speaking of which, it's lower down my torso than it used to be. . . ). This Hub is supposed to be a reply to the query "how do I grow a perfect beard?" Well, buddy, the answer is simple. Just have a sex change, head for menopause, and don't forget a magnifying glass. It'll be easy, believe me.