Quick, where's that list I've been making about the joys of growing older?

Warning: If you are one of those silly people who are grossed-out by conversation pertaining to body hair, come back tomorrow. I'll likely have it out of my system by then.

I leave my house each day at what we here in the South call, "The Crack o' Dawn." Either it cracked a little earlier yesterday, or I missed it by a bit--because the sun was already high enough in the sky to grant me my first clear glimpse of my knees in a while.

My first thought (and I'm not entirely sure I didn't say this out loud) was, "Are you kidding me?"

Because I'm fairly certain that there were hairs growing out of my knees that had been growing there since before Muffin Uptown was born (if I had taken the time to cut one of them in half, I could have counted the rings to be sure).

How did this happen? I shave almost each and every day. Of course, I can't see what I'm shaving because (a) I wear thick eyeglasses everywhere EXCEPT in the shower and (b) I'm too old to see much of anything in the half light that comes into the shower stall.

For all I know, I'm shaving someone else entirely.

So I went back into the house and (to the three men who read my blog, please avert your eyes) dry shaved my knees. I was only a few minutes late for work. And I was feeling pretty good about myself until I checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror and saw this big old chin hair that had sprouted up on the drive in.

Sorry men. Maybe you should have just skipped this one entirely.