Family gathering to give thanks at the reincarnated old Beef Eaters, flashy light rail trains whizzing by every few minutes. The last time I was at Beef Eaters with Old Wildcat I'm sure neither one of us could have imagined this, this setting, this family, this night. The first Thanksgiving without him, without one of his jokes, as the trains kept rolling by, "just snuff it out."
What's the chin hair notification responsibility etiquette?
After noticing a rather lengthy chin hair on a friend during a Monday night get-together, I should have said something. Right? We were a foursome and I was the new kid on the block, the least of the BFFs. By the least, I mean I've only been around maybe fifteen years to their twenty-five or so. I could have said it, but I didn't. I figured I didn't want to embarrass her. I thought, surely, someone else will point it out. Maybe, I considered, if we ever have a moment alone, I'll lean over and say whatever polite thing that came to me, or maybe a simple gesture would do it. But when that opportunity arose, I froze. Not my responsibility, I rationalized. Two nights later we found ourselves back together, this time a fivesome with three different gals, all either equal to or below me in the "I've known you the longest" hierarchy. The chinny chin chin hair was still there. That's two days of work, mirrors, a husband and lots of others who must be more adept at the notification rule than me, but still it was there. On my drive home with one of the other three, the topic came up. She saw it, too, but didn't say anything. I confessed to my Monday night observation. Later in the week, at a swanky, candle lit Old Town restaurant, the etiquette rule came up again. Two new ladies. Should you or shouldn't you? Ugg, we're getting so old.