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Dating in your town 💖

Dating in your town 💖

Dating in your town 💖

Dating in your town 💖

Dear future me, I hope you're dating again…

I wrote that to myself at 56. Tonight, I'm reading it again while getting ready for dinner with a man that treats me like a Queen, we'll call him John.

A few months ago, I was too embarrassed to date because I was convinced any man who got close enough would notice the coarse gray hairs on my chin. Now I have butterflies in my stomach instead of tweezers in my purse.

If you had shown me this version of my life back then, I honestly would've thought you had the wrong woman.

My ex-husband wasn't a bad man. We just slowly disappeared from each other.

He came home tired, I stopped asking him to go anywhere because the answer was usually no, and weekends became him on one end of the couch with his phone or the television while I sat on the other end pretending being in the same room counted as spending time together.

Sex went from occasionally to rarely to something neither of us mentioned anymore.

Eventually our conversations became groceries, bills, the kids, and whether we needed paper towels from Costco.

And I waited. I kept thinking we'd find each other again once work settled down, once the kids were older, once money wasn't so stressful, and once life got easier. There was always another "once."

Then one morning I realized I was 54 and had spent almost a decade waiting for a marriage to wake back up.

It never did.

So eventually we admitted what had already been true for years and got divorced.

I thought being single would make me feel free. Instead, for a while, it just made me feel OLD.

Suddenly I wasn't a married woman who had gotten comfortable. I was a single woman who was apparently supposed to upload flattering pictures of herself onto an app and convince strange men that she was fun over cocktails.

Meanwhile, menopause had decided to give me a beard. Wonderful. 🙄

It started with one dark hair under my chin, then three, then these coarse gray ones that somehow went from invisible to long enough to braid overnight.

Every morning I'd stand beside the bathroom window, tilt my chin toward the light and run my fingers underneath it, looking for anything prickly.

THE CHIN INSPECTION.

I had tweezers in my bathroom, tweezers in my purse and tweezers in my car because apparently facial hair can sense when you leave home unarmed.

The gray ones were the worst because half the time I couldn't even see them until they were long enough to have their own ZIP code.

One afternoon the sunlight hit my face sideways in the car, and I spotted one sticking out underneath my chin.

I was HORRIFIED.

Immediately my brain went where women's brains love to go when we're already feeling insecure.

If I can see that thing from here, what would a man sitting across from me at dinner see?

What if he thinks I shave? What if he feels one when we kiss? What if he touches my face and feels stubble?

I had already spent years feeling unwanted inside my marriage, so it didn't take much for me to convince myself nobody was going to want me now either. The chin hairs were just excellent supporting evidence.

I downloaded a dating app once, uploaded two pictures, stared at my own face for ten minutes and deleted the whole thing before anybody could even reject me.

Very efficient. 🤦‍♀️

A few weeks later, a friend tried setting me up with a divorced man she knew. I agreed, spent the afternoon getting ready, then found two coarse hairs under my chin in the car mirror and cancelled forty minutes before dinner.

I told her I had a migraine.

I did not have a migraine.

I had tweezers and emotional damage.

That night I wrote a letter to my future self.

I told her I hoped she was dating again. I hoped she had kissed somebody, let a man touch her face without immediately pulling away, and for the love of God, I hoped she wasn't still carrying tweezers everywhere like emergency medical equipment.

Then I folded it into an envelope and shoved it into the back of my nightstand.

A few days later I had an appointment with Taylor, the esthetician I'd been seeing for years, and while she was working on my face, I finally asked her about lasers.

I told her I was DONE. I wanted these stupid hairs gone before I even considered dating again.

Her first question was how many had turned gray.

"Too many."

That's when she explained that lasers rely on pigment in the hair to target it, which means white and gray hairs can be much harder for them to pick up.

I stared at her.

"So my chin hairs survived menopause AND outsmarted lasers?"

Taylor laughed so hard she had to put her tools down. 😂

Then she told me laser could run around $200 to $300 per appointment and usually meant multiple visits.

At that point celibacy was starting to look financially responsible.

But then Taylor explained something I wish somebody had told me YEARS earlier.

Tweezing, shaving and waxing were all dealing with the hair I could see, while the follicle underneath kept producing the next thick little wire.

That's why I could pluck one on Tuesday and somehow meet its angry cousin by Thursday.

She told me about Dermafiller, a microneedling serum designed around the follicle itself using what they call the Follicle Sealing Method.

Taylor explained that the niacinamide is meant to help target the follicle so the regrowth comes through finer and softer instead of thick and wiry, while the hyaluronic acid helps rehydrate the skin around the area and support the environment around those follicles.

For once, somebody wasn't telling me to put another cream on top of the problem and hope for the best.

The whole idea was to go after where the hair was coming from.

And unlike laser, having gray hairs didn't automatically take me out of the running.

Then Taylor told me the six-month bundle worked out to $16.65 per serum.

I had just been mentally preparing myself for $200 to $300 laser appointments.

"So sixteen bucks versus financing my chin?"

Pretty much.

SOLD. 😂

I ordered it that night.

At first I was annoyingly skeptical. I used Dermafiller every day, then spent the first week touching my chin approximately four hundred times waiting for something dramatic to happen.

Around day five, the hairs felt a little less sharp. I told myself I was imagining it.

Around the second week, the new ones didn't seem to have that same coarse, wiry feeling.

Then one morning I found a stubborn gray hair and immediately thought, WELL THERE IT IS. SCAM EXPOSED.

Except a month earlier I would have found five.

So I kept going.

By the third week, the biggest change wasn't even something I saw in the mirror.

I was at the grocery store when I reached into my purse for lip balm and realized my tweezers weren't there. I had forgotten them at home.

Normally that would have sent me straight to the cosmetics aisle to buy another pair because God forbid a chin hair emerged while I was standing near produce.

Instead I ran my fingers underneath my chin.

Nothing sharp.

And I kept shopping.

That sounds tiny.

It wasn't.

Over the next few weeks, the irritated little bumps from constantly plucking started calming down, the hairs coming through felt finer, and the whole stupid chin ritual started taking up less space in my brain.

Then one morning I made coffee, answered emails, got dressed and realized I hadn't done THE CHIN INSPECTION.

For years, my first interaction with my own reflection every morning had been searching for something wrong.

Now I had forgotten.

One afternoon my daughter and I were having coffee beside this enormous sunny window, and halfway through our conversation I realized I hadn't spent the entire hour wondering whether the light was exposing something on my chin.

That night I downloaded the dating app again.

I wish I could tell you I confidently uploaded five gorgeous photos and transformed into some fearless dating goddess.

Absolutely not. 😂

I took seventeen selfies, hated sixteen of them, briefly considered using one from 2019, then decided false advertising at my age was probably bad karma.

Eventually I posted three recent pictures.

My thumb hovered over the button so long the screen went dark.

Then I thought about the letter on my nightstand.

So I hit publish.

The first few messages were exactly what you'd expect.

One man wrote "hey beautiful" six times without apparently developing a second thought, and another asked whether I liked motorcycles before he asked my name.

Then there was John.

John was 58, divorced, had two grown kids, made terrible jokes and looked like an actual human being instead of somebody auditioning to become the Silver Fox of Facebook.

His first message made me laugh. His second made me answer.

We talked for about two weeks before he asked if I wanted to meet for dinner.

And suddenly I was standing in my bathroom touching my chin again.

I almost said no.

After all that, after Dermafiller, after downloading the app again, my first instinct was STILL to hide.

Then I looked at the tweezers sitting in the drawer. I couldn't remember the last time I'd carried them in my purse, and Dermafiller was sitting right beside my toothbrush where it had been every morning for weeks.

So I said yes.

The night of our first date I changed clothes three times, put on too much perfume, washed some of it off, put my original outfit back on and spent fifteen minutes wondering whether women my age were still allowed to have cleavage.

Apparently divorce does not come with a dating manual. 🙄

But something was different.

I wasn't six inches from the magnifying mirror hunting for hairs. I wasn't calculating restaurant lighting. I wasn't putting emergency tweezers in my purse.

I was nervous because I was about to meet a man I liked.

Not "normal nervous".... BUTTERFLIES nervous.

I had completely forgotten what that felt like…

John was already at the restaurant when I arrived, and what surprised me most was how much he listened.

He looked at my eyes when I talked. He asked questions and actually waited for the answer.

At one point I realized I'd been talking for several minutes about a trip I wanted to take, and instead of getting that glazed-over expression I had gotten used to during my marriage, John leaned toward me and asked where I wanted to go first.

That almost got me.

Not because John was some magical perfect man. Because I suddenly remembered what it felt like to be interesting to somebody.

At the end of the night he walked me to my car and told me he'd had a really good time.

Then he reached up and touched my cheek.

And there it was. That old panic.

My chin. The gray hairs. What if he feels one? What if he notices?

For half a second my whole body wanted to pull away before he had a chance to find the thing I had spent two years convincing myself would disgust somebody.

But I didn't.

I stayed right there.

His hand rested against my face, he leaned in, and I let him kiss me.

A REAL kiss too, the kind that makes a 56-year-old woman suddenly remember she still has a pulse. ❤️

When he pulled away, I waited.

I don't even know what I was waiting for. A strange expression? His eyes dropping toward my chin? Some tiny sign that he had felt something?

Nothing happened.

John wasn't studying my jawline. He wasn't looking horrified. He was smiling at me.

Then he asked when he could see me again.

And I swear, in that moment I realized how much of my life I had spent preparing myself for humiliations that never actually happened.

I had imagined the man, the restaurant, the lighting, the kiss, his hand against my face and the exact second he would discover my horrible secret.

Meanwhile, John was apparently just thinking about kissing me again.

I laughed almost the entire drive home.

Dermafiller stayed part of my routine after that.

The hairs kept feeling finer and less prickly, the constant plucking became less necessary, and eventually I realized my magnifying mirror had migrated toward the back of the bathroom counter because I simply wasn't reaching for it every morning anymore.

And John kept calling.

A few months later, which brings me back to tonight, I was getting ready for dinner with him when I opened my nightstand looking for earrings and found the envelope.

Dear future me, I hope you're dating again…

I sat on the edge of my bed and read the whole thing.

The woman who wrote that letter genuinely couldn't imagine becoming the woman reading it.

I had spent years waiting for my marriage to feel alive again, then nearly two more years telling myself I was perfectly happy hiding from anything that might make me vulnerable again.

The chin hair wasn't really the whole reason. It was just such a convenient excuse.

If I blamed the whiskers, I never had to admit how terrified I was of wanting somebody again and finding out nobody wanted me back.

Dermafiller didn't give me my life back. I did that.

But it took away one of the little things I had been using as evidence that I should stay hidden.

I stopped organizing my mornings around tweezers. I stopped inspecting my face every time I passed a mirror. And when a man I liked finally touched my face, I didn't pull away before he even had the chance to see me.

If you're dealing with the same thick, wiry chin hairs, especially gray ones that laser has trouble targeting, Dermafiller is worth looking at.

The six-month bundle works out to $16.65 per serum, compared with roughly $200 to $300 for a single laser appointment. It comes with the DHT-Blocking Serum and Pore-Closing Pads as free gifts, plus free shipping and a 90-day satisfaction guarantee.

https://sale.mydermadream.com/ff22-dermafiller-ps1

But the thing I value most isn't sitting in my bathroom cabinet.

Tonight I'm getting dressed for dinner with butterflies in my stomach instead of tweezers in my purse. ❤️

Before I left, I turned the old letter over and wrote one sentence on the back:

Dear past me, You didn't miss your chance! XOX

Dear future me, I hope you're dating again…

I wrote that to myself at 56. Tonight, I'm reading it again while getting ready for dinner with a man that treats me like a Queen, we'll call him John.

A few months ago, I was too embarrassed to date because I was convinced any man who got close enough would notice the coarse gray hairs on my chin. Now I have butterflies in my stomach instead of tweezers in my purse.

If you had shown me this version of my life back then, I honestly would've thought you had the wrong woman.

My ex-husband wasn't a bad man. We just slowly disappeared from each other.

He came home tired, I stopped asking him to go anywhere because the answer was usually no, and weekends became him on one end of the couch with his phone or the television while I sat on the other end pretending being in the same room counted as spending time together.

Sex went from occasionally to rarely to something neither of us mentioned anymore.

Eventually our conversations became groceries, bills, the kids, and whether we needed paper towels from Costco.

And I waited. I kept thinking we'd find each other again once work settled down, once the kids were older, once money wasn't so stressful, and once life got easier. There was always another "once."

Then one morning I realized I was 54 and had spent almost a decade waiting for a marriage to wake back up.

It never did.

So eventually we admitted what had already been true for years and got divorced.

I thought being single would make me feel free. Instead, for a while, it just made me feel OLD.

Suddenly I wasn't a married woman who had gotten comfortable. I was a single woman who was apparently supposed to upload flattering pictures of herself onto an app and convince strange men that she was fun over cocktails.

Meanwhile, menopause had decided to give me a beard. Wonderful. 🙄

It started with one dark hair under my chin, then three, then these coarse gray ones that somehow went from invisible to long enough to braid overnight.

Every morning I'd stand beside the bathroom window, tilt my chin toward the light and run my fingers underneath it, looking for anything prickly.

THE CHIN INSPECTION.

I had tweezers in my bathroom, tweezers in my purse and tweezers in my car because apparently facial hair can sense when you leave home unarmed.

The gray ones were the worst because half the time I couldn't even see them until they were long enough to have their own ZIP code.

One afternoon the sunlight hit my face sideways in the car, and I spotted one sticking out underneath my chin.

I was HORRIFIED.

Immediately my brain went where women's brains love to go when we're already feeling insecure.

If I can see that thing from here, what would a man sitting across from me at dinner see?

What if he thinks I shave? What if he feels one when we kiss? What if he touches my face and feels stubble?

I had already spent years feeling unwanted inside my marriage, so it didn't take much for me to convince myself nobody was going to want me now either. The chin hairs were just excellent supporting evidence.

I downloaded a dating app once, uploaded two pictures, stared at my own face for ten minutes and deleted the whole thing before anybody could even reject me.

Very efficient. 🤦‍♀️

A few weeks later, a friend tried setting me up with a divorced man she knew. I agreed, spent the afternoon getting ready, then found two coarse hairs under my chin in the car mirror and cancelled forty minutes before dinner.

I told her I had a migraine.

I did not have a migraine.

I had tweezers and emotional damage.

That night I wrote a letter to my future self.

I told her I hoped she was dating again. I hoped she had kissed somebody, let a man touch her face without immediately pulling away, and for the love of God, I hoped she wasn't still carrying tweezers everywhere like emergency medical equipment.

Then I folded it into an envelope and shoved it into the back of my nightstand.

A few days later I had an appointment with Taylor, the esthetician I'd been seeing for years, and while she was working on my face, I finally asked her about lasers.

I told her I was DONE. I wanted these stupid hairs gone before I even considered dating again.

Her first question was how many had turned gray.

"Too many."

That's when she explained that lasers rely on pigment in the hair to target it, which means white and gray hairs can be much harder for them to pick up.

I stared at her.

"So my chin hairs survived menopause AND outsmarted lasers?"

Taylor laughed so hard she had to put her tools down. 😂

Then she told me laser could run around $200 to $300 per appointment and usually meant multiple visits.

At that point celibacy was starting to look financially responsible.

But then Taylor explained something I wish somebody had told me YEARS earlier.

Tweezing, shaving and waxing were all dealing with the hair I could see, while the follicle underneath kept producing the next thick little wire.

That's why I could pluck one on Tuesday and somehow meet its angry cousin by Thursday.

She told me about Dermafiller, a microneedling serum designed around the follicle itself using what they call the Follicle Sealing Method.

Taylor explained that the niacinamide is meant to help target the follicle so the regrowth comes through finer and softer instead of thick and wiry, while the hyaluronic acid helps rehydrate the skin around the area and support the environment around those follicles.

For once, somebody wasn't telling me to put another cream on top of the problem and hope for the best.

The whole idea was to go after where the hair was coming from.

And unlike laser, having gray hairs didn't automatically take me out of the running.

Then Taylor told me the six-month bundle worked out to $16.65 per serum.

I had just been mentally preparing myself for $200 to $300 laser appointments.

"So sixteen bucks versus financing my chin?"

Pretty much.

SOLD. 😂

I ordered it that night.

At first I was annoyingly skeptical. I used Dermafiller every day, then spent the first week touching my chin approximately four hundred times waiting for something dramatic to happen.

Around day five, the hairs felt a little less sharp. I told myself I was imagining it.

Around the second week, the new ones didn't seem to have that same coarse, wiry feeling.

Then one morning I found a stubborn gray hair and immediately thought, WELL THERE IT IS. SCAM EXPOSED.

Except a month earlier I would have found five.

So I kept going.

By the third week, the biggest change wasn't even something I saw in the mirror.

I was at the grocery store when I reached into my purse for lip balm and realized my tweezers weren't there. I had forgotten them at home.

Normally that would have sent me straight to the cosmetics aisle to buy another pair because God forbid a chin hair emerged while I was standing near produce.

Instead I ran my fingers underneath my chin.

Nothing sharp.

And I kept shopping.

That sounds tiny.

It wasn't.

Over the next few weeks, the irritated little bumps from constantly plucking started calming down, the hairs coming through felt finer, and the whole stupid chin ritual started taking up less space in my brain.

Then one morning I made coffee, answered emails, got dressed and realized I hadn't done THE CHIN INSPECTION.

For years, my first interaction with my own reflection every morning had been searching for something wrong.

Now I had forgotten.

One afternoon my daughter and I were having coffee beside this enormous sunny window, and halfway through our conversation I realized I hadn't spent the entire hour wondering whether the light was exposing something on my chin.

That night I downloaded the dating app again.

I wish I could tell you I confidently uploaded five gorgeous photos and transformed into some fearless dating goddess.

Absolutely not. 😂

I took seventeen selfies, hated sixteen of them, briefly considered using one from 2019, then decided false advertising at my age was probably bad karma.

Eventually I posted three recent pictures.

My thumb hovered over the button so long the screen went dark.

Then I thought about the letter on my nightstand.

So I hit publish.

The first few messages were exactly what you'd expect.

One man wrote "hey beautiful" six times without apparently developing a second thought, and another asked whether I liked motorcycles before he asked my name.

Then there was John.

John was 58, divorced, had two grown kids, made terrible jokes and looked like an actual human being instead of somebody auditioning to become the Silver Fox of Facebook.

His first message made me laugh. His second made me answer.

We talked for about two weeks before he asked if I wanted to meet for dinner.

And suddenly I was standing in my bathroom touching my chin again.

I almost said no.

After all that, after Dermafiller, after downloading the app again, my first instinct was STILL to hide.

Then I looked at the tweezers sitting in the drawer. I couldn't remember the last time I'd carried them in my purse, and Dermafiller was sitting right beside my toothbrush where it had been every morning for weeks.

So I said yes.

The night of our first date I changed clothes three times, put on too much perfume, washed some of it off, put my original outfit back on and spent fifteen minutes wondering whether women my age were still allowed to have cleavage.

Apparently divorce does not come with a dating manual. 🙄

But something was different.

I wasn't six inches from the magnifying mirror hunting for hairs. I wasn't calculating restaurant lighting. I wasn't putting emergency tweezers in my purse.

I was nervous because I was about to meet a man I liked.

Not "normal nervous".... BUTTERFLIES nervous.

I had completely forgotten what that felt like…

John was already at the restaurant when I arrived, and what surprised me most was how much he listened.

He looked at my eyes when I talked. He asked questions and actually waited for the answer.

At one point I realized I'd been talking for several minutes about a trip I wanted to take, and instead of getting that glazed-over expression I had gotten used to during my marriage, John leaned toward me and asked where I wanted to go first.

That almost got me.

Not because John was some magical perfect man. Because I suddenly remembered what it felt like to be interesting to somebody.

At the end of the night he walked me to my car and told me he'd had a really good time.

Then he reached up and touched my cheek.

And there it was. That old panic.

My chin. The gray hairs. What if he feels one? What if he notices?

For half a second my whole body wanted to pull away before he had a chance to find the thing I had spent two years convincing myself would disgust somebody.

But I didn't.

I stayed right there.

His hand rested against my face, he leaned in, and I let him kiss me.

A REAL kiss too, the kind that makes a 56-year-old woman suddenly remember she still has a pulse. ❤️

When he pulled away, I waited.

I don't even know what I was waiting for. A strange expression? His eyes dropping toward my chin? Some tiny sign that he had felt something?

Nothing happened.

John wasn't studying my jawline. He wasn't looking horrified. He was smiling at me.

Then he asked when he could see me again.

And I swear, in that moment I realized how much of my life I had spent preparing myself for humiliations that never actually happened.

I had imagined the man, the restaurant, the lighting, the kiss, his hand against my face and the exact second he would discover my horrible secret.

Meanwhile, John was apparently just thinking about kissing me again.

I laughed almost the entire drive home.

Dermafiller stayed part of my routine after that.

The hairs kept feeling finer and less prickly, the constant plucking became less necessary, and eventually I realized my magnifying mirror had migrated toward the back of the bathroom counter because I simply wasn't reaching for it every morning anymore.

And John kept calling.

A few months later, which brings me back to tonight, I was getting ready for dinner with him when I opened my nightstand looking for earrings and found the envelope.

Dear future me, I hope you're dating again…

I sat on the edge of my bed and read the whole thing.

The woman who wrote that letter genuinely couldn't imagine becoming the woman reading it.

I had spent years waiting for my marriage to feel alive again, then nearly two more years telling myself I was perfectly happy hiding from anything that might make me vulnerable again.

The chin hair wasn't really the whole reason. It was just such a convenient excuse.

If I blamed the whiskers, I never had to admit how terrified I was of wanting somebody again and finding out nobody wanted me back.

Dermafiller didn't give me my life back. I did that.

But it took away one of the little things I had been using as evidence that I should stay hidden.

I stopped organizing my mornings around tweezers. I stopped inspecting my face every time I passed a mirror. And when a man I liked finally touched my face, I didn't pull away before he even had the chance to see me.

If you're dealing with the same thick, wiry chin hairs, especially gray ones that laser has trouble targeting, Dermafiller is worth looking at.

The six-month bundle works out to $16.65 per serum, compared with roughly $200 to $300 for a single laser appointment. It comes with the DHT-Blocking Serum and Pore-Closing Pads as free gifts, plus free shipping and a 90-day satisfaction guarantee.

https://sale.mydermadream.com/ff22-dermafiller-ps1

But the thing I value most isn't sitting in my bathroom cabinet.

Tonight I'm getting dressed for dinner with butterflies in my stomach instead of tweezers in my purse. ❤️

Before I left, I turned the old letter over and wrote one sentence on the back:

Dear past me, You didn't miss your chance! XOX

Start a new relationship with our trusted dating service. 💖

I swear drinking this is dating on easy mode 😂

F*** pickup lines and dating apps. Just drink this 30 minutes before going out:

Can confirm 2026 is officially the year for meeting your dream partner in person after tasting Yapper. Still don’t 100% get how it works so well, but I’m not complaining…

I swear drinking this is dating on easy mode 😂

F*** pickup lines and dating apps. Just drink this 30 minutes before going out:

Can confirm 2026 is officially the year for meeting your dream partner in person after tasting Yapper. Still don’t 100% get how it works so well, but I’m not complaining…

📱 Stop wondering what she's doing behind your back and finally get the proof you need to see the truth.

Think they are playing you? Tell them the game's over🚫

Think they are playing you? Tell them the game's over🚫

Sasha's tips on how NOT to use dating apps. Season 3 of Nobody Wants This is out now, only on Netflix.

Sasha's tips on how NOT to use dating apps. Season 3 of Nobody Wants This is out now, only on Netflix.

Sasha's tips on how NOT to use dating apps. Season 3 of Nobody Wants This is out now, only on Netflix.

Dating ist irgendwie gar nicht so kompliziert wie man es sich manchmal macht 🩷 habt ihr Bock auf mehr dating Stories?

Falls ihr mehr über Hinge erfahren wollt, findet ihr den Link direkt in meiner Bio 💞 | Anzeige

#hingepartner #dating #ad

Dating ist irgendwie gar nicht so kompliziert wie man es sich manchmal macht 🩷 habt ihr Bock auf mehr dating Stories?

Falls ihr mehr über Hinge erfahren wollt, findet ihr den Link direkt in meiner Bio 💞 | Anzeige

#hingepartner #dating #ad

Dating ist irgendwie gar nicht so kompliziert wie man es sich manchmal macht 🩷 habt ihr Bock auf mehr dating Stories?

Falls ihr mehr über Hinge erfahren wollt, findet ihr den Link direkt in meiner Bio 💞 | Anzeige

#hingepartner #dating #ad

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