Hand Me a Razor! I’m Starting to Look Like My Father
<p>It happened. I woke up one morning, looked in the mirror, and there he was, staring back at me. For women, it’s usually the mother at the worst possible age of her life wrinkling up the mirror. For me, it was Gigi — my hairy Italian Father.</p>
<p>When I saw him, I gasped and ran away. What the heck was he doing in my foggy mirror? Did I see correctly? Shouldn’t he be popping up in my brother’s mirrored medicine cabinet? Why were his whiskers on my face?</p>
<p>My scrupulous, loving daughters had already put me on notice, always pointing out a few hairs here and there around my lips, the lone hair on my chin. I never saw them, or I just didn’t care. They were blond anyway because I spent so much time surfing in the ocean.</p>
<p>I don’t know. Just never noticed them until that morning in late February when, lo and behold, there was my father looking back at me. It creeped me out.</p>
<p>I’m a woman; I’m not supposed to have a 5 o’clock Shadow, am I? I thought only sexy male movie stars like Ryan Gosling had them. He’s hot. He’s sexy.</p>
<p>I’m a woman. Will I be sexy, too? Will men find me sensual and rugged like Bradley Cooper? George Clooney? Ben Affleck?</p>
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