We’ve all got ’em, ‘niggles.’ Some of us more than others. All those who know me will find it really hard to believe, but prior to children and life and chaos, … my ways were verging on OCD. Now, if I’m honest, I’ve lost my way and it’s all a bit of a shambles. I’m not proud of the state of my home or my life, but I’m trying, piece by piece, car boot by charity clear out, spring clean by drawer sort, to put things back into order. This may take some time … some considerable time – years maybe! I’m obsessional about some things, less so about others and if I get a bee in my bonnet … well!
I just love Meryl Streep’s declaration, that has recently done the rounds on the web, cropping up recently on my Facebook feed. She’s an incredible woman and I guess, a woman of her high regard, her gravitas, and as a woman of a certain age, – she can get away with saying it just how it is. I commend her for that.
Since my emergency hysterectomy a couple of years ago, I’m quite an emotive soul and my intolerance of certain things are really obvious to me. Foibles become ever more apparent and I find myself biting my tongue – frequently.
Just the other day I had ‘facial hair issues.’ Not mine, perish the thought (fortunately I’ve never been particularly hairy – one of only a couple of things I actually have in my favour), but those of a bloke I was meeting with.
I’ve never been a massive fan of facial hair, but then I’m not against facial hair per se, either. I do, however, remember when my Dad first grew his ‘tash, I didn’t kiss him for a week or so and begged him to shave … but it’s still there to this day, and I couldn’t imagine him without it now. I’m not sure what it was that got me then, but right now I think it’s merely the idea of the uncleanliness of it that turns me off.
So, back to this meeting, I spent a considerable length of time sat, feeling antsy, desperately trying to avert my eyes from a piece of mush/fluff inextricably attached to a hirsute lip. My attention was caught, so much so, that it was making me feel ill and I’m pretty certain I looked sullen and disinterested every time the poor man talked – as I failed to make eye contact without a furrowed brow.
I’m not ‘hairist,’ promise. I have plenty of friends sporting facial hair (in some cases more than is actually on the tops of their heads) and I’m sure it’s regularly maintained and beautifully clean, and in most cases it really suits them. However, for those of you out there a little lax in this matter might I offer a word of advice. If you insist on sporting hairy appendages of any measure, please take pleasure in the tidiness and upkeep of said adornments. Oh, and, from personal experience (during Movember for a couple of years running, and after having suffered some ugly red rashes in my misspent youth) can I suggest that beard oil (or coconut oil as a more accessible alternative) is a fabulous invention to soften stubble and hair. So please be thoughtful in your ‘moustachio and beardyness’ and save us females from a fate worse than death!
I know there’s worse things than a bit of beard grot, an untidy house, an exchange of cross words, being on the receiving end of bad manners, but it’s the little things that seem to irk me more and more. P’raps I just need to relax a little, take a chill pill, or perhaps a little open honesty like Meryl’s wouldn’t go a miss in some cases either?
Food for thought … possibly … but please don’t store it in your beard!