When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Plucky

When Lisa 1 writes a blog entry, I usually consider my role as TOL (The Other Lisa) to be contained in editing. At the most I add a postscript. In the case of this post, I feel compelled to warn all readers: The follwing blog is a disturbing leap into TMIland Lisa-style. Read at your own risk. The Lisas will not be held responsible.

Both of my plucky mutant facial hairs popped up simultaneously today. I’m not sure whether readers will be more repulsed by the mention of “mutant facial hairs,” or jealous that I have only two.

I am thinking of changing my rogue eyebrow feeler’s name from Old Wiry to “Laverne,” and naming the stray mole hair “Shirley.” I seem to have a compulsion for naming individual body parts. Fortunately this applies almost exclusively to my own body parts. That’s all I am allowed to say about that.

Running a washcloth across my face this morning I was stopped by Old Wiry. (OW for short. Now there’s the perfect name.) When OW makes its appearance, it’s like a copper wire surgically implanted into my brow line. And plucking? Let’s just say my friend OW puts the ow in ouch. That freaky boar bristle has a root that pierces my toe nails.

Moving on to Shirley. Shirley is the opposite of OW. She’s delicate, fine, harder than hell to see without my granny glasses and can grow at the rate of about six to twelve inches overnight. On length alone I’m pretty sure Shirley could tickle friends and lovers from across a crowed room. Please don’t tell my husband I have friends.

Why am I regaling you with my woe-begotten tale of rogue body hair? The moral of the story is Oprah. Isn’t it always? Oprah interviewed several older Hollywood actresses recently, and I caught Cybil Shepherd saying she quit looking in the mirror when she felt old. I did not catch at which exact age that was – I suspect it was not the unripe age the hairy, yet youthful, Lisas are enjoying.

I think I’m looking forward to not obsessively gawking at every new wrinkle, bulging vein, liver spot and wild sprout. But I am worried that when I stop looking altogether it means the end of personal hygiene as we know it. Neither alternative is pretty. Aging is not pretty. Is there another choice, please? Any volunteers to wax my eyebrows or at least give me general anesthesia while I go after OW? Anybody? Anybody?


See if the Lisas put you on the acknowledgement page of our book. Make that books. Best-sellers. Blockbusters, made-for-TV, big screen, multi-media mega-wonders.

Grovel, grovel you say? Sure, we accept groveling. Also Visa, Mastercard and Paypal. We knew you’d come around.


12 responses to “When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Get Plucky

  1. I guess I don’t have to tell you that OW is eventually going to migrate to your lip or your chin. Oddly, ignoring it and avoiding mirrors doesn’t make it go away. I’ve tried.

  2. In lieu of anesthesia, how about chocolate?

  3. It always ends with Oprah, doesn’t it?

  4. For us the end choices do always seem to be Oprah or underwear.

  5. I blogged about a facial hair a few weeks back…both my school friends have one in the exact same spot….left jawline.
    I was thrilled to find we are not alone….loads of bloggers have them…misery does love company.
    Mex tells me I have errant eyebrows too but I always forget to look at them…the droopy eyes and new wrinkles catch my attention!

    • @granny in South Africa – it’s winter here, so we can all hibernate with our hairiness as insulation (some of us Northerners more than Southerners)

  6. So if I don’t look in the mirror, how the hell am I to know if I have dried toothpaste stuck to my chin? How will I ever be sure my skirt isn’t partially wedged into my underwear, thus exposing my rear? What about when the mascara smears onto my cheek or when I have lipstick on my teeth? Am I to wait until I overhear snarky remarks from the bagboys at Wholefoods or the teller at the bank? I’d rather be hard on myself then hear it from strangers.

  7. Nice. Very Nice.
    TMI – no! …considering you only have TWO mischieveous hairs. Sheesh!

    When you have to shave your beard (no, I do not have a beard) worry then!! My dear sweet mother has said multiple times, “If you ever have to put me in an old folk’s home, please don’t let me grow a beard. Please!”

    … Two hairs …
    **insert shaking jealous head here**

    Maybe too harsh for my first comment on your blog? 😀

    • Harsh? Shucks, we’d offer you a fan award, if we had one. Stick around, we’ll do a contest soon and rig it so you win.

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