My friend who I have known since grade school called me in horror yesterday, laughing and shrieking at the same time as I picked up the phone.

She had just been to her regular aesthetician for a quick eye brow shaping when the woman explained to her that it was time for a chin wax.  She was horrified.

After our call, I opened the community paper to a lengthy article by a regular humor columnist about midlife facial hair and her disastrous experiences with facial microplaning after her daughter told her that her face was furry like their puppy.

And then there’s Little Red Riding Hood’s  “fu manchu”  beard, as  I call it.  Mom’s Alzheimer’s is in full-on fast forward motion (so much so that it’s been hard for me to even think about writing about it lately) and I can hardly bear the frightened look she gives me when I come at her with the scissors to trim her little grouping of silver chin hair.  She would be mortified if she realized, but I’m not sure terrified is much better at this point.  Trust me, I question this judgement call for reasons I’ll explain later.

At my request, MacGyver installed a lovely 5000- power lighted magnification (I’m exaggerating a bit) cosmetic mirror in my bathroom.  And I’m telling you, if I catch my reflection too early in the morning at that strength, I’m convinced Sasquatch is in my bathroom.  I’m tempted to rip that puppy back off the wall, but it might hurt MacGyver’s feelings.

This midlife physical change thing baffles me.  And to be coincidentally timed right as we lose our near vision … so that we can’t even notice our facial fuzz and fur?  Now that’s just cruel.

I’ll add this post to my vanity diaries. I know I’m lucky to even have hair and to be alive to notice.

But I’m even luckier to have close friends who have sworn to me in blood that if I end up not realizing that I have fu manchu facial hair at some point one day, they will chase me down with tweezers in hand, no matter what.