For quite a few years now, I've had a little problem with nana whiskers.
I started growing them in my mid-30s, and while they were a bit of an affront, I've mostly been able to deal with them.
(by 'deal with them', I really mean, agitate over them till they're long enough to pull out)
But yesterday, to my utter horror, I found an actual bristle sprouting on my top lip.
A MAN whisker. Not borrowed from my husband.
Yanking it out hurt like billy-o and made my eyes water, and the good feeling I got from having it gone was tempered with the knowledge that the damn thing is probably a scout and that more are on the way.
I only hope I don't wake up one day looking like Chewbacca.