Mustaches. I have one. I wish I were Greek, because then at least I would have an excuse. Maybe I should change my name to Zorba. My husband's facial hair grows so slowly, I could plant a tree and be eating fruit from it before he could grow a mustache. I guess our son is going to have to learn how to shave from me. I say no more.

I have, however, decided to let my leg hair grow out in the winter. I live in a cold, snowy area. Imagine if I slid off the road into a snow bank and was caught there for several days. They might report later that the only thing that kept me from going into hypothermia was my intensely long leg hair.

My mom used to tell me that my eyebrows reminded her of an angel's wings. Lately I have been finding long wiry hairs that do not look like they belong to an angel at all! In fact, I think they may belong to Ed Asner. I'll have to let him know I found some of his eyebrow hairs.

The coup de grace (death blow intended to end the suffering of a wounded creature) to all of this is that my hair is beginning to thin on my head, front and center. It's cruel.