I was getting ready for work this morning when I noticed something on my upper lip. Something black. Something that looked like hair.
The following is an excerpt from the inner monologue I had (exclamation points, italics and caps included):
"A hair! I officially have a mustache! I'm an 80 year old woman with a MUSTACHE! I know it was only a matter of time before I got one but Knights of Columbus, I'm too young to have a mustache! I already have rogue eyebrow hairs sprouting up on my eyelids! Haven't I suffered enough!?!? I'm going to have to wax! Or I could bleach. But if I bleach it I won't ever be able to go outside again because it will catch the light of the sun and someone will say, 'Hey, you got something glittering on your lip,' and then they'll go in for a better look and then recoil in disgust. Or I could pluck, but it looks pretty sturdy. Like it has deep roots. Like it's sucking all the youth and vitality right out of me. NO! Waxing is my only option. Or maybe I should just go to the Home for the Ugly and Tragic and wear muumuus and support hose for the rest of my life!"
Upon closer inspection I turned out to be one of my rogue eyebrow hairs that landed on my lip after vigorous plucking. Crisis averted.