Helga Rising

Contrary to being able to cough up a shower squirrel every time I bathe, I'm really not a hairy person. I can go weeks without putting a razor to my legs and only sport a handful of silky nubs. If I were a blonde I'd probably never have to shave the gams at all, but being a bonafide brunette those little buggers--sparse as they may be--are black as night. That's why this new phase of aging is all the more perplexing: The hair I'm losing on my head is popping back up in places that prior to 40 were smooth as a baby's tush.
Enter Helga.
My girlfriend first spotted her one evening as we were getting ready to go to a ritzy black-tie event. As I stood in the bathroom applying my third coat of lip gloss, teetering on four-inch stilettos in a crush of red velvet, she gave me the customary once-over to make sure that my tags were tucked and my mascara hadn't migrated to my cheekbones. Her eyes suddenly grew as big as dinner plates and then narrowed into indiscernible slits as she enveloped me in a rush of heightened concern.
"Oh my god!!" she cried, grabbing the loop from the bathroom shelf (she has a slight obsession with analyzing minute body parts like skin, nail shavings, etc--anything that can be magnified) and affixing it to my chin.
"It's magnificent!"
Knowing full well that when she says something's 'magnificent' while looking through the loop it usually means it's some sort of biological anomaly bordering on grotesque, I panicked.
"What is it?! Do I have a big fat zit? Dear Lord tell me it's not about to erupt right before we walk down the red carpet!"
"No, it's not a zit. It's more of a..." her voice trailed off as she pressed the loop harder into my skin. "I'm not sure how to describe it. I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Jesus," I snorted. "Let me see."
I pushed my way to the makeup mirror which, unfortunately, magnifies everything by 10 and turned on the light, just to make sure the discovery was as horrific as possible.
It was a massive whisker. Not just your average run-of-the-mill granny chin hair, but a mean-spirited, menacing follicle with a shaft the size of a coax cable. And to make matters worse, it was gray! I'd already begun to pluck those coarse bastards from my nether regions, but this really took the cake, ate it and threw it up on my face.
"Get rid of it!" I screamed hysterically, clearing the bathroom shelf with one broad sweep of my arm in a desperate attempt to find the tweezers.
"Easy, easy now," my sweet-tempered gal crooned. "I'll take care of Helga." A fitting name considering the whisker's temperament and girth.
She grabbed what looked like needle-nose pliers, put on her reading glasses and gave it a quick yank. But Helga didn't budge.
"Stubborn little shit, isn't she?" she teased.
"This is no time for levity! Please, please get rid of it," I begged.
"Okay, hold on. This one's going to do the trick," she said, bracing herself with her foot on the toilet seat. "One, two... three!"
I felt a sting as she deftly plucked Helga from her post.
"Got her!"
She laid Helga carefully on a sheet of toilet paper and placed the loop over her. "Let's take a look, shall we?"
"Do we have to?" I whined.
"Yes! It's fascinating. Don't you want to know what your body produces?"
"Not really. No." But I couldn't resist taking a gander at this gargantuan hair that sprouted from my chin. Helga was truly impressive, in a Guinness Book sort of way, with a root system that rivaled the majestic Sequoias.
"Are you sure you got all of her?" I asked, hoping that what I'd heard was true. That if you get a hair by the roots it's gone for good.
"Pretty sure I did. Guess we'll have to wait and see."
And wait we did.