Pretty girl

I had a meeting with a new client a couple of days ago.

I like to be nice and early for the new ones so I gave myself an hour for a twenty minute trip.

Consequently, I had some extra time on the back end, so I stopped at a Barnes and Noble to grab a latte for myself and picked up some baked goods for my client for sucking up purposes.

Then I proceeded to apply my makeup in the parking lot. (In an effort to hit the road sooner rather than later, I saved the makeup application part of my morning routine for my car.)

That's when I saw it.

In the bright morning sun of my rear view mirror waved a looooooong chin hair. Black. Thick. Unacceptable!

Where the hell did this come from?

How could I have missed it?

It was huge!

It grew out of nowhere like Tim Allen's facial hair in the Santa Clause. Remember? He opens the medicine cabinet clean shaven, then closes it to find a full beard.

Freaker!

It had to come out. I couldn't meet my client as the bearded lady. But I had no tweezer so I called my clever friend Stephanie to ask for some emergency beauty advice.

"Wrap it around your pinky and pull." She giggled. The chin hair wasn't long enough for that but the suggestion made me laugh my ass off.

I did try pulling, but no matter how much I tugged at various speeds and no matter how taught I held my chin, it wouldn't budge.

Finally I decided to pinch it between my fingernails to mimic the grip of a tweezing implement. Yank!

Oh, for the love of God.

That just made it curl! Like a ribbon does when you're wrapping a present and you run it between your thumb and a pair of scissors.

Scissors!

I didn't have any in my car. I had nothing to extract my upside-down-Charlie-Brown.

Now what???

It was time to head to my meeting. I thought about walking in, head down, as if I were a shy person, but they had already visited my website so they'd know that was a lie.

Then I thought about asking the receptionist for a lighter (they're all smokers) so I could singe the damn thing before I saw the people I wanted to impress.

Too risky. I'd rather walk in with a goatee than some Freddy Krueger carnage on my face.

So I just decided to pretend it wasn't there.

They didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. They were able to eat their scones and muffins without retching so I think my tiny pigtail escaped unnoticed.

Either way, I am revising my emergency road kit.

Screw the blankets and water and gluten free granola bars. I'm replacing them with a magnifying mirror, wax strips and a daily affirmation booklet. (Because when shit starts growing where it's not supposed to, girlfriend needs to remind herself that she is still smart and talented and strong.)

So what if I'm ever stranded in a Minnesota blizzard and because I've swapped out life- sustaining supplies for beauty-sustaining supplies, I begin to suffer from hypothermia? Easy trade. The handsome doctor who treats me will think, "What a pretty girl."

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