[20] Pulling for Pennies

I think even when I turn 80, I will still be haunted by the question “Want to pull?” Those three little words send a shiver down my spine.

I’d hear these words when I had my first paying “job.” And I had a very demanding boss.

My job was plucking out white hairs and my boss was my mom.


Since I was a spoiled brat and didn’t have any chores (yeah, I guess it is a perk of being the baby of the family), my mom had to figure out some way to get me to do something. I don’t know when it started, but my mom used to pay me a whopping $.01 per white hair I plucked out. Not only that, there were minimums. Yup, I had to earn at least a dollar.

It was the most painful (aside from the rare spankings) part of childhood. I hated it so much! If my mom wasn’t busy and I saw her lounging on the sofa, I’d try to avoid her like the Plague. I’d crawl when I had to to get from one room back to my bedroom so she wouldn’t see me.

Another thing I hated about pulling white hairs was the tweezers I used. They were the old school, basic silver tweezers. But what made them horrible were the rough feel to them. They became rough because one time, while at “work,” I had to use the bathroom. I had (and still have) a tendency to hold on to things, so I had the tweezers in my hand and they ended up falling in the toilet. Ugh. I don’t know if Tweezerman
tweezers existed back then. If they had, I would much would have preferred them.

Today, I am wishing I had a little one of my own who could do some “chores” on my head. Sadly, I have to do the work myself, and it SUCKS! Sometimes when I go to visit my mom, she’ll try to pluck my white hairs out. I am too cheap to pay her, but I guess her payment is the fun she has in this role reversal.

I’ll admit, it does make me feel like a Japanese macaque. However, I love spending quality time with my mom. I just hope she doesn’t start charging me for her services! (Mom, if you ever read this, forget that you saw it! 🙂 )

Lesson Learned: Love it or hate it, it will happen to you.

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