I have peach fuzz. Not an all-out mustache, but peach fuzz.
The years passed. I had a couple of boyfriends. I had a kid. I had a husband who thought the world of me. The distractions of my post-Navy existence, and full-time housewife life, began to consume my thoughts. I put on some pounds. We travelled and transferred time and again. The peach fuzz was the last thing on my mind.
Then life changed in the drastic way that it sometimes does; one day everything was alright, and the next day it was not. The loss of a family member gave me a lot of time to grieve and a lot of time to think. I began to grow concerned about my appearance again, so I ran, swam, visited the hair salon regularly, and even got braces to perfect my smile.
From the other side of the mirror, the peach fuzz began to mock me.
With time, my body was the way I wanted it to be, but from the other side of the mirror, the peach fuzz began to mock me. I had to do something about that, I thought. During a visit to my sister in Chicago, I accompanied her on a trip to her favorite threading parlor. I dazzled over the way a simple piece of thread quickly cleaned up the errant hairs on my sister’s lovely brow. On a whim, I had my eyebrows and peach fuzz threaded, too.
I learned my lesson then, or so I thought. I found a way to navigate through my ever-changing life. I made time to do other things - going to college, getting a great job, and having another child. But the weight came back. I was okay; I made peace with the weight and with my happy home. Then another hardship came about that had the unintended (but very welcome) consequence of removing thirty pounds of unwanted weight from my body. I made the decision to keep the weight off my body and stuck with it, thankfully.
Still, the peach fuzz remains. I stare at it in the mirror sometimes and wonder if it is as glaring to others as it is to me. My husband says that he doesn’t care one way or the other, but that he’d be supportive of any permanent hair removal method I’d want to undertake. I’m not so sure, though.
I think that my peach fuzz acts as a shield of sorts. It protects me from obsessing about my looks too much; if it were to disappear, things would happen. Who knows what aspect of my appearance I would attack next? Will I look more closely at the greys on my head? Will I think about how sparse my eyebrows are? Would the sagging skin under my chin engross me to the point of distraction? I don’t know the answer to that, which is for the best. My peach fuzz reminds that I cannot stop nature from taking its course. All I can do is enjoy what I have and manage what comes my way as best I can.
Many Kind Regards,
Sometimes our outer appearance can be more than skin deep. Read Jeanette's struggle with vanity here.
Original image credit: Calsidyrose