by Jennifer Wagner

Created on: January 11, 2009

As a teenage girl, I was arrogantly confident in my appearance. My skin was always tan, my hair was meticulously in place, and my upper lip was hair free. Those were great times, and I thought they would last forever.

I'm not sure how it happened, or even when it began, but as I aged hair began growing in odd places. It started out slowly, with random single hairs showing up under or between my eyebrows. I wasn't overly concerned, they were easily plucked and didn't even always reappear. However, once I hit 30, I seemed to notice more of them, and they grew in groups like ragweed or crabgrass.

And then it happened. One day I was crafting with my six year old son, Dillon. We were painting, glittering, gluing, and it was pretty messy. It was all over my hands and wrists. I noticed Dillon looking at me with the oddest expression on his face. He pointed at my face and said, "Mom, you have a moustache." I calmly took the back of my hand and wiped off my mouth, thinking he meant a glitter moustache. He then said the words that changed my life forever.

"No Mom. A real one."

Nothing will stop a woman in her tracks faster than being told she has a moustache. A real one. I quickly ran to the mirror, hoping desperately that he was wrong. But no! HE WAS RIGHT! I did have a moustache. And when I say moustache, I'm not talking a few stray hairs that I had to strain to look for. A fourteen year old boy would have jealous of this thing! How on earth could it have formed without my knowledge, and more puzzling was how did I not feel it?

I called my Mother immediately, asking for advice. Come to find out, hairy faces run in the family. GASP! She knew just what to do. Moments later she pulled into the driveway, her trusty bottle of Nair in hand. This was a woman prepared for anything.

If you've never had the opportunity to smell Nair, let me quickly describe the aroma for you. It smells like a cross between eggs and sewage. It's horrible. But I would've applied boiling acid to myself if that's what it took to get rid of my "stache". Sitting with Nair on my upper lip for two full minutes was fun in itself, but removing the Nair and finding the hair still in place was something else all together. Somehow it had withheld. I suffered the stench for nothing! And oddly I now had a bright red burn mark on the corner of my upper lip. An accent point, if you will. My Mother shook her head in disbelief.

Eventually I had no choice but to pluck out the remaining hair. And may I just say.......OUCH THAT HURTS! I had tears coming out of my eyes it hurt so bad. The salt from the tears burned my moustache burn too. However, I am proud to say that I am now hair free!

A little piece of my femininity died that day. It's hard to feel like a lady once your own moustache grazes your face. But regardless of the pain I will have to endure, I vow to continue to rid myself of unwanted hair. It's least I can do for mankind, or is it for womankind?

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