When I was in my third year of college I worked on campus in the Industrial and Manufacturing Engineering Department as a student aide. The department Secretary was a woman in her 50’s named Pat Bernard. She was a secretary’s secretary. Pat was confident, sure of herself and of her secretarial abilities. She stood tall, her bleach blond pseudo beehive with a flip hairdo added a good 4 inches to her frame. She wore bright polyester business suits, red lipstick and heals that clicked with every step. I was sure she wore them so that everyone in the department knew she was coming. You did not mess with Pat. She was a feminist Gloria Steinem would have been proud of. She married late in life to a long haul truck driver. She was so in control that when they married, he changed his name to hers. As a boss, she was amazing, inspiring and motivating. I loved working for her because things got done and deadlines were met. I admired the respect she commanded from everyone, even the Dean of the Department. The only issue I struggled with was she had insane, unsightly facial hair. Not a strand here or there that needed a minor plucking. Pat had an immense amount of long, blond curly whiskers that would require drastic measures to remove. We worked side by side and it was difficult to focus on her when her curly-qs would dominate the frame. I would look directly into her eyes hanging on every word she said. She loved me because I think she thought I was paying such close attention to my instruction. She appreciated the unfaltering eye contact, which was so rare from a college student in those days. What she never realized was I was totally and completely freaked out by her chin. Looking directly in her eyes was the only way to communicate without my focusing in on and getting lost on the number of rotations one stand of chin hair could possibly have. Fast forward to today. I grow hair like a man…like Pat. I am sure it is hormonal and all a part of the aging process. Our society wouldn’t have all of the hair waxing, bleaching and lasar removal options if women did not suffer from some sort of excess hair growth, right? I know I am not alone but geez, if I let it go, I am certain I would freak out a college kid or two that came face to face with me. I often wonder if God’s amazing sense of humor played a part in my facial hair extravaganza. I love thinking that God knows me so well, loves me but also humbles me in the areas I need to be knocked down a notch or two. I used to call Pat “The Bearded Lady”, behind her back of course. I wonder if on the weeks I get lazy with my personal grooming if there is some smart aleck kid doing the same to me. Is it sad that I hope so?