Have Yourself A Hairy Little Christmas
What is it with hairs and the menopause? They just sprout up and spread in places that just aren’t meant to be furry. So, when my wife spotted my nostril fluff and reached for the tweezers, I knew I was in trouble…
MILAN. Beautiful people, beautiful scenery. Hotel room overlooking the historic Milan Centrale railway station.
Our official work is done. Awaiting us are two days of sight-seeing and relaxation. What could be more perfect? Life is good.
(At this point, those of you who know me, please feel free to switch off your visualisation — #TMI moment coming up!)
My gorgeous wife gives me a look as I recline on a large double bed. She moves towards me like a cat that’s about to caress and possibly (hopefully) devour its prey. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and wait.
As the bed springs let out a little ‘moan’ I feel a warm thigh either side of mine. I smile to myself.
But then… My first clue that all is not as it seems. The light from the bedside lamp creates a glint coming from her hand. Before I can react I am pinned to the bed (and not in a good way!). With a flourish she unveils the dreaded tweezers that have travelled with us all the way from Lincolnshire and they mean business. My pulse quickens…for all the wrong reasons.
Before I can even let out the tiniest of protests my nose becomes a homing beacon for those metal monsters.
In full hunt and destroy mode, my wife has sent my nookie radar into a tailspin and with it my hopes of escaping this hotel room unscathed.
As she looms over me, a look of complete and utter anticipated satisfaction, barely hidden behind a smug smirk, crosses her face. I brace myself for impact.
The first strike is a deceptively gentle one. As the first nostril hair becomes acquainted with the tweezers, I am relieved at the relatively low level of discomfort.
My wife smiles. I smile. All is well. It’s not that bad, in fact it’s so not that bad, I give myself willingly for the next metal monster foray into what now feels like a forest that has become my nasal cavity!
I may just survive this and even have time to visit the Leonardo museum after all. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? Locals see my sensitive nose and think Brexit fever across the water has produced a new variety of two legged Rudolphs? A small price to pay for nasal perfection, wouldn’t you agree?
But then… it’s the scream — my scream — that gives me a clue that the second ‘assault’ is a slightly tougher hair to crack, or should that be pull?
If this hair was a wrestler, it would surely be the ‘Big Daddy’ of the hirsute world. This next plucking attempt ends in complete and utter failure and me screaming like a banshee (there are better ways to wake up your hotel neighbours, aren’t there?).
As I clutch my nose in a futile attempt to protect its honour, my wife firmly, but gently, tells me to stop being a woos as she goes in for a third de-plucking. As I cling to the furniture and adopt the pre-gurning face that accompanies such pain-inducing moments, I could be anywhere in the world right now — the magic of Milan fast fading into the distance amid a sea of nasal hairs escaping in the breeze (for the record, it wasn’t THAT bad. I only had to part company with two or three.) Removing nasal hairs is the same whether you’re in Milan or Mablethorpe. It hurts!
One of the most romantic cities in the world and here I am de-hairing. This wasn’t on the menu for our evening. It’s certainly a grounding, albeit very uncomfortable, exercise though. Who would have thought that letting go of two or three nasal hairs would have caused so much discomfort and struck the fear of Samson into me?
Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve not parted company with other hairs over the years (don’t worry I will not go any further) and experienced the discomfort that can cause! It’s just that I was a virgin when it came to removing nasal hairs until this moment.
Yet another marvellous (a word dripping with sarcasm) thing about the menopause. Hairs sprouting up in places one would rather they didn’t. You know, the one chin hair that seems to stand taller and stronger than any other hair you have ever had the ‘privilege’ of sharing your body with, or is it just me? What the pluck is that all about?
Why are we not fully embracing this part of the menopausal years? After all, we seem to love doing so much for our eyebrows. Stencilling. Really?
And if this is part of the ‘change’, why are we not fully embracing this part of the menopausal years? After all, we seem to love doing so much for our eyebrows. Stencilling. Really? What’s the point? Could someone explain it to me please? From where I’m sitting/standing/hiding it makes so many beautiful women look exactly the same. Like they’ve been on a Stepford Wife course for eyebrows. And is it only me that’s been really disappointed when on approaching the eyebrow bar all I’ve been offered is a threading session. Where’s my G and T?
What a load of baubles!
Is this a beauty phase? One day will everyone, sheep like, follow a craze for chin and nasal hair decoration perhaps? Men are doing it with their beards, after all.
I was in my local supermarket (for once not desperate for a loo) when a very nice young man appeared in the aisles sporting baubles in his beard. Festive follicles — just imagine. What a scientific breakthrough that could be. You could order in the types of eyebrows, nasal hairs, chest hairs, beards, moustaches and even ‘down there’ hairs, complete with Christmas theme. Imagine… the nativity scene in your pubes. Or is that slightly too politically incorrect for this time of year?
Whatever happens I, for one, will be on tweezer watch for the rest of my days, especially when I’m on a city break. I’ll be looking for that scary glint of metal when I’m next in a fancy hotel room thinking my luck’s in. I’ll never approach that touch of thigh on thigh in quite the same way again. And for the older readers among us, ‘watch out, watch out there’s a nasal plucker about’.
Take care out there people and Furry — I mean MERRY — Christmas!
Asha Clearwater is an NCTJ (National Council for the Training of Journalists) qualified journalist who’s been a news reporter, features editor and arts editor, as well as editor of several national business magazines.
Today, through her business Turquoise Tiger, she coaches SMEs on the art of great storytelling to promote their products and services.
Asha occasionally freelances as a writer for national magazines and is even behind some of the information boards you’ll find strolling through Woodland Trust Forests.