Today I have on my mind something very personal, maybe even embarrassing, but something that many of us have in common.
It is a tool that I treasure. Something that I use when I am by myself. I lock the door. I open the drawer and pull it out of its special place. My pair of tweezers. Then I go to work on those pesky hairs which grow in unwanted places. I refuse to say "whiskers" because it's just too disgusting to contemplate. I prefer to think of it as weeding. After all, what is a weed in one's yard? Simply a plant that is in the wrong place. Mint can be a weed when it begins to take over the flower bed. And yet, mint is so lovely, fragrant, and useful. I can't say as much for those...facial weeds.
The tool I use for weeding was acquired many years ago. Even before I was married. I don't remember where I bought them, but they are perfect for the job. Just the right tension, a sharp end for grasping (but not dangerously so), tiny lines on the handles for gripping. A couple of years ago they came up missing. After a frantic search, I went to three different stores to find a replacement to no avail. I bought three different tweezers that day. All three were poor comparisons. They didn't even hold a candle to my beloved tweezers! The end wouldn't grasp or the tension was too loose. Each day had me looking more and more...well how shall I describe it? Shaggy.
And then they just reappeared.
I accused my husband of borrowing them. He never confessed, but he did express his confusion as to why I was so upset.
Perhaps I reacted closely to how HE reacts when I borrow a screwdriver out of his toolbox. Please! Like it's made of gold or something. It's a screwdriver! It's not like my tweezers which have proven to be absolutely irreplaceable.
It's just a screwdriver.
The other day he asked for the tweezers to remove a splinter.
A splinter? I wrung my hands. "But...but they're mine. Do you promise to give them right back when you're finished?"
He rolled his eyes.
"They're just tweezers!"
I deemed him unworthy and passed onto him one of the unworthy tweezers.
Maybe he'll leave mine alone.