I don’t presume to know any more about God than the average born-again Christian or the Pope, but I am pretty sure He is getting a kick out of us and our hair. There probably isn’t a day that goes by that God doesn’t turn to the nearest angel or saint and remark that the decision to include hair on the human body was one of the greatest calls of His everlasting life. (That and the free will thing, which cut way back on His work load.)
Hair, our lack of it, our excessive amounts of it, where it pops up, and what we do to it, must be a huge source of amusement for God and anyone else in heaven or outer space who is observing us.
I thought about this the other day when I noticed that I’ve got some hairs that are getting longer and you wouldn’t believe where. In my eyes.
Those tiny hairs in the corner of your eyes that you don’t notice until you’re looking in a ridiculously powerful magnified makeup mirror and then all four of them stand out like a sore thumb and you begin to fear you’ve turned into Jo Jo the Dog Faced Girl. (However tempted you might be, do not - I repeat DO NOT - pluck those eye hairs out. They must serve a righteous purpose because when you pull on one of them, tears and swear words come out.)
My eye hairs seem to be growing a little bit and there isn’t a single solitary thing I can do about it. I’m not exactly an action hero when it comes to reining in my other hairs, the ones that I can do something about. I only recently started to color my hair, after a three-year internal and external debate over whether I should go natural gray, go platinum like my favorite Barbie, or something in between. And since I’ve already seen The 40-Year-Old Virgin, I will never submit to waxing. I and my hairs have a “live and let live within reason” kind of relationship these days.
I think one of God’s practical jokes is that as we age, men obsess over the lack of hair on their heads and women obsess over the growth of hair on weird places on their bodies. It doesn’t seem fair that as a married couple gets older, you’ll find Rogaine and Nair side by side in the master bathroom cabinet.
I always thought a major reason for a woman to stay married to her husband into old age was to have someone around who would tell you if you had a long hair growing out of your chin. Your kids and grandchildren aren’t going to tell you; they’ll pretend not to see it. Strangers are too polite. And your friends don’t want you to look too good.
It’s hell to get old, but it’s even worse when the men are all shiny and smooth and the women are covered in hair, down to their eyeballs. That can’t be good for a traditional male-female marriage.
Labels: eyeball hairs, hair, Jo Jo the Dog Faced Girl