Tag Archives: beard

Regrowth III

Last night, in my not so sweet dreams, I dreamt that when in direct sunlight, the hair on my face appeared to be much longer than the hair on my head, I’m talking male hipster length of beard. It was a megamix of the Twilight franchise. Fortunately, this excessive hair only appeared when I was standing in the sun or on those frequent times when I stand under a fluorescent light. Let’s face it, this was not a dream, it was a nightmare. πŸ™€. Halloween came late for me. The scariest thing about my nightmare, is that I knew that the bristles were there, poking out of my skin even when I was in the dark, and for that there was no cure.


Now, one should not read too much into dreams, I mean, I have no idea what the one meant the other day where I was on the 7s chatting my work shit, feeling happy. In the case of this particularly dream, I will hazard a guess and say that the unwanted regrowth on my chin, lip and general lower part of my face is making me feel self conscious, manly and ugly, and those do not a confident woman make. Well, that, or it could just be because I was looking at photographs of some fine trannys before I turned off my lights.

Damn you social networks. Damn you steroids. Damn you menopause. I think I really need to listen to some Shania Twain. If only I did not hate her music so…


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Regrowth Part II

For most people in this fair land, hair grows. It grows and you have it cut, shaved, waxed or lasered. I am nowhere near the former, but I am most definitely in need of the rest of them, for my hair is growing back with a vengeance. Everywhere.

Everywhere I look on my body, hair is coming back thicker and denser than it ever has. Only on my head and on my brows is this a good thing. Okay, my eye lashes too. I appreciate that these are growing back, even though they currently look like I was a victim of a subtle practical joke involving a pair of scissors. Gone are my Chinese brows of yesteryear and in are black slugs. Maybe they are not slugs yet, but they are going to be something the TOWIE’s would be jealous of. I think the miracle gel known as Lilbrow assisted this framing device.

As for the rest of me? Well, save a miracle, I am not far away from a five o’clock shadow. If the hair on my head grew as fast as the hair on my chin and upper a lip does, I would be an almost happy women. At some point in my future I would like a man to stroke my face and then cover it in gentle kisses, but the mood will be somewhat ruined when the mythical man encounters my whiskers. Oh and my fingers and toes…. I really do not know why anybody would need hair here, but my body has decided that I do. I really do not want to look like Robin Williams. The fault belongs to drugs I fear. Steroids and chemo. Life may be easier for a man, but that does not mean that I want the appearance of one. It’s a shame. Any man, would have to be a brave one/have an unfortunate fetish.

The hair on my head is progressing nicely. I have discovered that grey hairs grow faster than my dark shade of brown ones, but even those now cover every part of my head. We are almost at the stage where my ‘do looks optional. We all know it is not, but right now, I thoroughly enjoy stroking it. It’s like having a rabbit on my head. A nice, soft rabbit. Who knows what next month is going to bring? A yeti?



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The Bearded (Relatively Attractive If You Like Them Squidgy) Woman

I frequently dwell on the irony of my treatment making me lose the hair on my head, yet it has made me grow unwanted hair on my face. The situation is unfortunate. As my scalp has slowly got lonelier and chillier, my chin has found new friends, as well as my cheeks and forehead. Who knew you could grow hair on your forehead? Not me. And don’t even get me started on the nasal hair. I trim it, but it does make me sneeze and that can be dangerous with scissors so close to your eyes. And I do not need anymore problems with my body or my appearance.

The culprit is the steroids. As well as giving me insomnia, the incontrollable desire to eat crisps with melted cheese and the occasional pus shelter, they make me resemble a member of ZZ Top. At least, I think it would, if I were not so vain.

Evidence 1 – The Perpetrator

I was told to expect this unsightly side effect, but nothing can quite prepare you for it, especially if you are of youngish age, for the Shotputter Look, which I now sport. Fortunately for others, I am single, so a person out there does not have to stroke my fuzzy cheeks and grab my prickly chin. Personally, I like touching a prickly chin, but that is for another tale best not put in print.

I’ll be honest, because in these situations I think it is for best. I am no stranger to the odd bit of facial hair. Something happened between Haemo Dad’s sperm and Mamma Jones’ egg that meant I have spent my adult life keeping my moustache under control. I blame the ethnic mix. It would be fine if I were a blonde, but it is safe to say that I am not blonde, as my face would testify.

Now, my friends who are unfortunate enough to have to discuss this with me, say I am exaggerating. The other friends, if they find me make-up-less, normally have to have a discussion with me with my chin in my top. I realised it was bad when in daylight, daylight and strobe lighting really is unfair, when Big Sister pointed out the cheek fuzz. So to prove to you that I am not exaggerating and I am slowly turning into an ugly man, please see the evidence collection below:

Evidence 2 – The Hairy Left Cheek and Slight Sideburn

Evidence 3 – The Hairy Forehead and Overgrown Eyebrow

Evidence 4 – The Worst. The Hairy Jawbone

Evidence 5 – The Beard

Of course, there are remedies for this. I hope that my high dose treatment will be one such remedy as long as it lets me keep my brows. Please let me keep my oriental sparsely populated eyebrows.The nasal hair on the other hand can just disappear. I know that if I was in the office, there would be one gentleman, who would trim them for me, for he once tried to wax my moustache with parcel tape. He’s a nice chap really. For the time being, I am maintaining some of my femininity with wax strips. It is for the best. When you try to look nice because at some point, you wouldn’t mind everlasting love or even 15 minutes of it, you do not want to be walking around with a five o’clock shadow even if you do have cancer. Like I said, I am terribly, terribly vain. If you are thinking that wax strips do not work, think again, they are now used weekly.

Evidence 6 – Murdered Chin Hair.

Evidence 7 – Culled Fresh Moustache Hair

So there you have it, yet another reality of living with the Big C. I’ll probably miss it when I am bald and look like Uncle Fester. If that happens, I will draw it on. For entertainment. That will definitely help me on the subjective scale of attractiveness.

EJB aka Fuzzy Face x

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