From the Redneck Diva:
When I think about being a woman, I think how absolutely blessed I am. Along with the fact I am prettier, I also can pass off all major decisions to my husband. Now that we are the proud owners of two teenagers, when one of them (or both! ACK!) wants to go to a party I get to recite off that “Daddy’s the head of the household” speech and therefore take all weight off my own shoulders. It’s the ultimate “good cop, bad cop” scenario and this time, I get to be the good cop. When it comes to homework and chores, it’s always me that plays Mel Gibson (crazy and unstable) to his Danny Glover (level-headed and calm), but in a party/social event situation, I can swoop in and say, “Oh honey, I know. It isn’t fair…(insert heavy sigh), but Daddy is the head of the house and ultimately his decision is final,” making him the heavy when in all actuality I am going “YESSSSSSSSSSS” inside. Hey, don’t judge me. I never said I played fair.
We, as women, can cry for no apparent reason whenever we want to and really, no one thinks too much of it. In fact, my husband has come to expect it and is training our son the fine art of laying chocolate at my feet while mumbling words of adoration and apology even though he probably hasn’t done anything wrong. The kids don’t think one thing if I cry, they just solemnly hand me the box of tissues. If Daddy cries? Everyone starts looking for the four horsemen of the apocalypse.
Of course, there are downsides to being a woman. Our legs aren’t expected to be hairy—even if that’s how mine are most of the time, especially this time of year. I considered trying to start a national movement to be more like the women of Europe, but decided if it took off, all the men would move to another country (certainly not Europe), so I let the ruckus die down.
Probably the worst downside to womanhood—besides the sneeze pee—is chin hairs. Oh yes, I’m going there. See, I never had chin hairs until a few years ago. I honestly and truly believe I made fun of my mom and sister’s chin hairs one too many times and God said, “Alright then, young lady, we’ll just nip this right here,” and, poof! I had chin hairs. I must have made fun of them a lot, too, because I don’t just have a hair here, a hair there. No, I have a patch here, a bigger patch there, a straggler over there. Oh, and you can’t forget the lady-stache that accompanies the chin hairs. Well, of course you can’t forget it—it makes you look like Tom Selleck!
The first time my husband caught me plucking chin hairs, he walked down the hall to find me standing in a ray of sunlight in the foyer with a hand mirror in one hand and the tweezers in the other. He stopped, cocked his head to one side and said, “Whut are you DOING?” I explained that in order for me not to look like a billy goat I have to pluck the lower half of my face occasionally. He shrank away from me like I was suddenly coated in toxic waste and said, “I could have lived my entire life without ever knowing that!” Now it is simply unspoken. It’s the “don’t ask, don’t tell” of facial hair.
I know I’m not alone in my hairiness, though, because at a couple’s retreat a month ago we had to fill out surveys about our spouse. The survey asked things like “What is your spouse’s favorite movie?”, “If your spouse could have dinner with one celebrity, who would it be?”, and the like. One question toward the end of the survey was “What is the one thing you know about your spouse that they think you and the rest of the world don’t know, but you really do?” Now, we are a pretty open couple; we have been together 19 years and know each other probably better than we sometimes wish we did. I didn’t answer that one because I honestly couldn’t think of a thing. Oh, my husband answered, though. His answer was “CHIN HAIRS”, written just like that, in all caps. Of course, this made every man at the table cringe and avert his eyes. It made every woman at the table bust out laughing and then we got sidetracked for the next few minutes discussing and comparing growth patterns. The men were apalled. We women, though? We bonded.
I’m not perfect. I know this. However, I do know that I was fearfully and wonderfully made by my Creator and I am a masterpiece! I might be a chubby, wrinkly, hairy masterpiece, but I am one all the same. In spite of the gray hair, chin hairs, wrinkles, cellulite (and that extra weight I’m still blaming on the kids even though the youngest is a month shy of turning 10), we women need to remember we are amazing. We are beautiful. We need to embrace the dark circles under our eyes from lack of sleep, the aching back and hips after we try playing “Just Dance” on the Wii and discover all too late it was a bad, bad, bad idea, the un-manicured fingernails, and the sloppy ponytail that has become part of our uniform. We need to remember that paying the bills, scheduling and re-scheduling a family of five, and doing the endless laundry is important to the running of our household. We should know beyond the shadow of a doubt that our job—whether secretary, assistant, nurse, police officer, doctor, stylist, teacher, mechanic, dispatcher, clerk or one of the countless other jobs we do—is important and it matters.
So ladies, now that we’re all empowered and have read the last half of this column toying with any errant chin hairs that escaped the last tweezing, I urge you instead just to sit back and breathe a sigh of accomplishment. You’re awesome. Really. You are.
(And here’s a hint: if you avoid direct sunlight usually no one can see ‘em.)
Diva
