I stared at the woman who sat kitty-corner from me on the streetcar this morning. I tried not to, but I stared at her profile, in short little bursts of fascination. And I had to admonish myself not to laugh. All I could think of was Kids in the Hall and their skit about the man (Mark) who has a fly on his face.

Not that my woman had a fly on her face. No, no. She was a slightly less than average-looking, tall, huskily built woman, probably a good two decades younger than me. She had short, bleached blond hair, but hey, so do I. Mine is just more skillfully cut and coloured. It wasn’t her ersatz hair or her demeanour that had me mentally holding my sides—it was the mole on her right cheek, the side nearer me, from which spouted four half-inch long black hairs.

I tried reading my latest library offering, Lost in a Good Book, but somehow despite the title, my eyes kept snapping upward and wham! Those black hairs sat there, plump and healthy on her cheek, staring back at me. Ah, Kids in the Hall, do go away. I’m trying to maintain my decorum, but the hairs look like long legs. (Snort.)

If she were a natural blonde and the hairs were also naturally blonde, they would not have hit me in the face so forcefully.  If they were bleached the colour of her yellow hair, perhaps she might be forgiven for overlooking them in her morning toilette. But there’s no way on God’s green earth that she could miss those suckers unless she doesn’t own a mirror—and though she was certainly not overly prosperous, she was no bag lady.

I understand that some doctors recommend that one not tweeze hairs that grow in moles. I have a mole in the crook of my right arm from which, unfertilized, flourishes a single dark hair. (There, you now know more about me than my children do.) I do not tweeze it. I do, however, cut it down to the height of the mole. Regularly. And this mole is covered 90% of the time by a sweater or long-sleeved blouse. It’s not sitting on my face in full view of the population of Toronto, scaring little children.

Let’s get a little interactive action here.

If you think she should bleach the hairs, vote for Decision A.

If you think she should snip the hairs down to the mole, vote Decision B.

If you think I should just mind my own business and stop obsessing about women who don’t care enough about their own appearance to check a mirror now and then, join me in voting Decision C.

(But the hairs look like a fly and if I sit near her again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain my urge to swat it!)