Thank heaven for health insurance

This week we had some other couples over to watch one of the world series games. Of course this included dinner, dessert, and snacks to graze on during the game. Well, the game wasn't going so well (Can you tell we are Rockies fans?), and I knew that all these other women would be hurrying for the exit as soon as the game was over to get their cranky and disappointed husbands home. I wasn't too keen on being left with all the mess to clean up, but that was kind of the arrangement we all had. Better to get them separated and calmed down before they really worked themselves up into a frenzy. I was mulling over my options during the 7th inning stretch, when an erectile dysfunction drug commercial came on. That kind of an ad tends to cause an uncomfortable silence, and it was then that I knew what I had to do. I glanced at my husband, hoping he would forgive me, and not sure how he would take what I was about to do. When they got to the part in the commercial where they talk about going to the hospital if you have an erection that lasts more than 4 hours, there were the usual uncomfortable giggles. I swallowed hard and blurted out, "What? I thought they always lasted more than four hours!?" I acted totally serious, and my husband said, "Shhh, honey I will talk to you about it later."

Well, those women just gasped. One of them said, "You look tired, let us clean up for you dear." And that was that. Before the ninth inning had started the dishes were done, the floor was swept, and the garbage was taken out. It didn't seem to improve the mood of any of the other men except my husband, though. They were still cranky when they went home.

My husband didn't mention it, until we were walking up the stairs and all he said was, "You know, I would have helped you with the dishes if you would have asked." And I said, "You know, if you ever need that stuff and it ever does last for more than 4 hours, I am the one who will need to go to the emergency room. But at least I know I have friends who will come over and help with the housework."

Whiskers - Not the name of my cat

When I was little, I remember my dad would rub his whiskers on my face and neck, and it would tickle, causing me to giggle hysterically.
I used to think whiskers were so cool. After all, Santa had them, so how much more cool can that get?
When I got married, I loved my husband's whiskers (and still do). I think they are sexy.
And if he rubs them on my face and neck, it still causes me to giggle.

I really do like whiskers, just not on me. I remember when I got my first whisker about 10 years ago or so. I felt it when I touched my chin in deep thought. Suddenly whatever the deep thought was about left me, and all I could think about was getting home to pull this alien man-hair from my chin before I started to cackle. Well, I pulled it out and anxiously waited for it to come back, and I waited and waited and waited. Nothing happened for a long time, but I looked in the mirror and examined my chin every day to make sure.

About five years ago it happened. I woke up one morning and looked in the mirror, and there they were -- that whisker was back with about 3 or 4 of his close friends! I was absolutely horrified! I tweezed them, and in-between sobs tried to explain to my husband what was happening to me. He was indifferent. Never try to explain the horror of whiskers to a man who shaves every morning. They just don't get it. It ended with him holding me close and telling me he thought I was beautiful anyway. ANYWAY??? What's that all about?

Oh well, so it goes. Now I have a magnifying suction mirror on the bathroom mirror, and I check my chin every day - at least once, to make sure I am not ignoring an infestation of the little beasts. I have 3 different tweezers for different types of whiskers, one grabs the fine white ones best, one is for the thick black man hairs, and the other is a cheap pair for when the kids have run off with the other two pairs.

I have pretty much come to terms with my whiskers, but I am confused about what to do about other people's. I must admit, sometimes when I am talking to a friend, my eyes will focus on a particularly long obnoxious whisker, often in a mole, and I can't think of anything else. I wonder whether to tell her, or let it go, thinking that she must have a mirror, and perhaps she likes it that way...??

I usually end up saying nothing, and direct my anger and disgust toward her husband, who shouldn't have let her go out like that without telling her (very gently of course) that she had a slightly distracting growth on her chin.

Maybe it's up to us women to tell each other when nature plays a cruel joke on us. I seriously think that they sometimes wait to pop out until after I have performed my morning tweeze. How do you feel? Would you rather someone tell you or try to ignore it? It's a tough call.