Personal hygiene has always been important to me. Not that I ever obsessed about it, I just want to look clean and tidy. I always kept my spending on cosmetics to a bare minimum; just lipstick and nail polish. I was always in too much of a hurry in the mornings to worry about all that other paraphernalia. You know, powder, eyeliners, mascara, and so on.
By the time my face could have used some cosmetic help, I became allergic to anything containing perfume. Back then there was no such thing as “hypoallergenic” anything. You bought what they had and learned to like it.
I did make an exception for the company’s annual Christmas Party. This was my time to get all dolled-up in something smooth and satiny or soft and velvety and to also have my makeup done professionally. There was a great little place called About Face owned by a makeup artist who used to work in Hollywood. He got tired of the rat race of working on movie stars and decided to retire and move here. My face always looked so much better, and different, when he finished with me.
There is one indulgence that I began in my thirties and still practice to this day. The leisurely bubble-bath. I got hooked on this practice the first time I poured that soapy liquid into a tub of steaming water. Since then, I have enjoyed many hours of soaking, reading, and just plain luxuriating in a warm bubbly bath. I plan on enjoying this pastime for as long as I can climb in and out of a tub.
Yesterday, after one of those long enjoyable soaks, my fingers brushed against my chin and I felt them. Yes, it was once again time to take care of those two pesky little chin hairs. These two hairs have enjoyed living on the left side of my face for many years. I do not know when I first noticed them and started to pluck them out, but they are hardy little fellows and keep growing back.
I picked up my tweezers and tried finding them with my thumb.
No good; can’t see them. Where are my glasses?
Wonderful, this getting old is. Can’t hear well! Can’t see well! The one thing I can do, however, is grow chin hairs. Sort of the beginnings of my feminine beard. OK, with glasses on my nose and a mirror under my chin, I try again and locate the elusive hairs. Got one, got two. Done. But not truly done.
While I was looking at my chins, (I say chins, because there is more than one loosely flapping about), I noticed that there were more than a few white hairs at the side of my mouth. My own version of a mustache. So, time to get rid of them as well.
As I scrutinized my face, I caught sight of my eyebrows and decided to do a little landscaping there as well. Gosh, my eyebrows reminded me of Andy Rooney from 60 minutes. I loved his commentaries and when they did a close up of his face, I was fascinated by his bushy eyebrows. Well, my eyebrows are not bushy but did appear to be growing in all directions. I picked up a small brush and brushed them into some semblance of order. As I did that, I noticed that some of the white ones were sort of crinkly. Might as well get rid of them too. My gaze then picked up a dark one that would not lie flat. It protruded out from under the rest of the now perfectly aligned ones. This little monster would also have to go.
To my surprise, this hair was very, very long. It might even have been as long as one of Andy’s eyebrows.
First, the hair resisted, but I was determined and tugged again. The third time did it and the hair was captured between my tweezers. “My gosh, how long is this thing?” I said out loud. I placed it on my sink and went to get a ruler. That stubborn hair would not lie flat so I glued it to the surface of the sink with some liquid shampoo. It measured one and a third inches! I was flabbergasted. Wonder if like my chin hairs, this one will also grow back? It is amazing the things I can grow on my face. If I started to wear makeup, would the creams and potions discourage such facial invasions? Probably not.
Face taken care of I try to remember what else needed attention.
Yes, of course, my toenails. Time to call the podiatrist. For a long time now, I have not been able to reach down and cut my toenails. In fact, the last time I tried, I almost cut part of my small toe off. It hurt too. Now, I let a proper doctor take care of my feet. Feels good to have them soak in their version of a bubble bath before he begins to work on them.
Chalk up one more thing that comes with age, not being able to do everything for me. Why should that matter? There are so many things and people to help me in my senior years, so why not take advantage of them? With very little effort, I can still feel and look neat and tidy, no matter my age.