The Lone Whisker

I don’t know why this popped into my mind today.  Somewhere back in the 60’s, I was hanging around Albuquerque with friends.  Pam was a couple years older than me, a sophisticated, mature 14 year old.  We went downtown together so she could buy tickets to an upcoming Dave Clark Five concert.  I was in awe of her ability to talk to grownups and purchase things without any help from Mommy.  We ate greasy cheeseburgers together  at a little diner and wandered into a five and dime store to look around. 

I can see it to this day.  It was the longest, scariest looking hair I had ever seen on a woman’s face.  Sprouting from an ugly, reddish brown mole on the side of her chin, a thick black hair extended straight out and then down below her face, dangling in the air.  It bobbed up and down as the woman asked if I needed assistance.  I tried to focus on her black framed eyeglasses which magnified her eyeballs about 100 times, but the bobbing hair pulled my gaze back like a magnet.  Embarrassed, I coughed politely into my hand and backed up a few steps, trying not to seem rude.  I mumbled something about having to leave immediately and ran to find Pam. 
Things to be grateful for:  I don’t have a big, hairy mole.  Yet.