Rainy Day Writing

Writing, Reading, Inspirations and Aspirations

Groucho Marx and My Mediterranean Ancestors

Back in 1968, I was the Groucho Marx of ten year olds. I have the school picture to prove it. I had very thick eyebrows. They weren’t dark like Groucho’s, PTL for small miracles, but they were heavy. I also had some facial hair issues that sprouted up around that time, thanks to the glories of puberty. About the time I was in the sixth grade I recall talking to my friend Barbara through the open window of  my bedroom. I was explaining to her that I was bleaching my mustache and wasn’t quite ready to walk downtown with her. She thought the white pasty shit all over my upper lip was hilarious looking and couldn’t stop laughing at me. I thought it burned liked the dickens and that in her next life her ancestors should hail from the Mediterranean like mine did. But I’m the forgiving type and we were pretty good friends as kids. I don’t hold any grudges. I wonder what her ass looks like at 58?

So it’s pretty weird for me to look in the mirror lately, just weeks shy of MY 58th birthday, and think “Holy shit, where are my eyebrows?” Upon closer examination I realize they are turning blonde and gray and thinning out. I should be elated, less plucking, but I think I look like a dork. Dogs and clowns don’t have eye brows, (well, technically speaking clowns do but usually white them out), but women need eye brows. Without them we have nothing to raise and look through our husbands at.

So now I have to pencil in my brows. I actually use a little brown sharpie looking thing. It works okay. I can get a little color on the gray ones, and the long Andy Rooney ones I pluck, but there aren’t many of those. I don’t bleach facial hair anymore though, I wax it. It is quicker and the pain lets me know that I’m still alive, which is good because sometimes I need a reminder. I’d like to just quit doing this crap but I’m pretty sure I would end up looking like a harbor seal. Harbor seals are actually really cute, but I’d rather not resemble one–too closely.

So how are you all dealing with the weird changes that happen as we’re getting older?

 

 

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6 Comments

  1. I’m not an old lady and my principal beauty routine consists of plucking various isolated Guinness Book of World Records-worthy long hairs from across the entire continent of my middle-aged body and that’s mainly for the periodic entertainment and grossing-out of my oldest kid but I’ll speak for some of the old duffers in the crowd and I’ve got three words for you: Loss of Elasticity. At the rate I’m going, in ten years I’m gonna look like a Shar Pei. To counterbalance the problem I’ve decreased the rate of said body hair removal and I’m just gonna allow myself to look like a caveman. Double Standardville City.

    Liked by 1 person

    • TF think how much time we could save of the less and less time we have left if we just let go of it all. Cavemen had it easy no doubt. I’ll bet the more hair they had the more desirable they were to Cave Women, lol. Those caves were pretty cold…

      Like

  2. I play sports with the high school kids that I teach. It amuses them. I come home really, really wiped.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Harbor seal?!?!? Oh no. Well at least you have your wit and and insanely funny writing style to get you through all of those difficult days balancing that ball on your nose!

    Liked by 1 person

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