Can We Talk About My Mustache?
Ok, look. I’m not even going to pretend this almost-40 business doesn’t have some unpleasant side effects.
Y’all can lie all you want and say “What do you mean you have creepy chin hairs that look like spider legs, but your near vision is declining and you couldn’t see it until your husband tried to pull it out because he didn’t think it was attached and you screamed and punched him and you were both horrified that this is your life now? That’s never happened to me!” Ok, Liar McFullofit, I’m sure you also don’t have a perma-scowl that can only be hidden with bangs or Botox.
But none of that is the point. The point is that this phase of life requires a whole new support system. And I don’t mean Spanx, but you’re gonna need those too. I mean girlfriends who are navigating this same bizarre life stage that you’re in.
The great news is that unless you’re actually insane, you’re done having babies. This means you actually have TIME to have friends again. Between you and your friends, there’s an assortment of children from toddlers to late-middle schoolers. You’ve all been parents long enough that you’re letting go of some of the parenting challenges you used to lose sleep over – your kid won’t bathe every day, he only eats orange food, she’s prone to outbursts of potty language in the company of clergy and the elderly. You’re not sweating that stuff anymore.
You and your crew can get together for dinner or a weekend getaway and you can be fairly certain that your kids will survive a few hours or even days without you. You’ve relaxed your standards a little, so if the house is a disaster and nobody brushed their teeth while you were away, no big deal.
But the important thing is that you find time for your girls, because skipping it is how inch-long chin hairs happen. Absolutely true story – during Christmas break, I didn’t see my people. Then on the first day of school in January, I got in my car and looked in the rearview mirror. I gasped in horror.
There, taunting me, was my mustache. Blowing in the breeze of the AC vents, glinting golden in the winter sun as if to say, “I’ve missed you, don’t I look FAB?”
If my friends had been there, I wouldn’t have had to face this horror myself. They would have gently reminded me to check my facial hair by mentioning their own mustaches or a new waxing salon. And if I hadn’t taken the subtle hint, they would love me enough to just spell it out – “Sister, your ‘stache is intense. You might wanna get that taken care of.” And I would have been grateful that someone loved me enough to tell me the hard truth.
So all you 40ish mamas out there, listen up. Be a friend. Tell your homegirl when it’s time for bangs or a good waxing. Rave to her about the glorious revival of the mom jean. Don’t let her live another minute without experiencing the life-changing revelation that she can do things for herself again! You know, like buying a two-dollar face mask and a box of wine at Target and pretending it’s as good as that spa day she can’t afford because kids.
She’ll thank you the next time she gets in her trashed minivan and catches her reflection in the rearview.
Overheard at the salon: I’m not even pretending to care about my mother-in-law’s opinion. If she wants to name someone, she can have her own baby.