A Day in Menopause · A Hormonal Comedy by Nurit Rozenblat
Chapter Twelve: 18:12 — The Brush Is Full, and the Chin Is Blooming
At 18:12 Dana stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed her hair.
It was supposed to be a routine moment.
Three strokes of the brush, and you can get on with your life.
After the second stroke she stopped.
The brush looked back at her.
Well, it didn't exactly look.
But there was enough hair on it to open a small wig business.
"What is this?"
Dana pulled a clump of hair out of the brush and held it up to the light.
"Who lives here?"
She brushed again.
More hair joined in.
"Excellent," she said. "The second shipment has arrived too."
Eyal passed through the hallway with a glass of water.
"What are you doing?"
"Inventory."
"Inventory of what?"
"Of what used to be on my head."
Eyal peeked at the brush.
"That's a bit of hair, Dana. Everyone has hair in their brush."
"A bit? Eyal, I could knit a sock out of this."
"For whom?"
"For a bird. So it has a warm nest."
Hair sheds and renews itself in cycles all the time, the inner voice remarked. It is part of the life of hair.
"So why does the cycle lately look like a demolition-and-rebuild project?"
Because you are also noticing it more. And because during the transition to menopause, as estrogen levels drop, many women notice increased shedding and thinning of the hair, especially along the part line.
"My head is being laid off."
Not laid off. Reassigned.
"Great comfort."
Dana put down the brush and moved closer to the mirror to examine her part.
She moved to the left.
Moved to the right.
Tilted her head under the light.
Dana is trying to order hair extensions from Amazon that will match her hair color, but she isn't sure whether Brazilian or Indian hair is the type that will suit her.
She typed "hair extensions" and got four thousand results.
Four thousand women, she thought, had once stood in front of exactly this kind of mirror.
She scrolled. Brazilian — wavy and full. Indian — straight and soft. Malaysian — extra shiny.
"And what about Israeli?" she asked the mirror.
The mirror stayed silent. It was probably busy looking at her part, too.
She held the phone up to her head and compared colors against the light.
"Dark brown" was too light. "Chestnut brown" was too dark. "Natural brown" belonged to somebody else entirely.
She added one to the cart. Took it out. Added it again.
In the end she closed the app.
Until her own hair decided whether it was staying, there was no point ordering it replacements from abroad.
"Wait."
She froze.
"What is that thing?"
On her chin, right in the middle, stood a single hair.
Long.
Dark.
Thick.
Proud.
"Eyal!"
He appeared in the doorway.
"What happened?"
"I have a hair on my chin."
"Where?"
"On my chin, Eyal. I said that in the previous sentence."
He came closer and peeked.
"I don't see anything."
"Because you're looking like a man. Come closer."
Eyal came closer.
"Oh. That one."
"'Oh, that one'? That's how you react? As if she's lived here for years?"
"She's pretty... noticeable."
"Thank you so much for the support."
Dana tried to grab the hair with her fingers.
It slipped.
Tried again.
Slipped again.
"She's greased. She's ready for this. She's been training."
"You need tweezers," said Eyal.
"Wow. Finally a contribution to the operation. Where are the tweezers?"
"In the drawer?"
Dana opened the drawer.
There were no tweezers there.
There were four hairpins, a band-aid, and a battery she did not remember ever putting there.
"The tweezers aren't here."
"Maybe in the cabinet?"
"I searched the cabinet yesterday for something else. They're not there."
Eyal sighed, went to the bedroom, and came back a minute later.
In his hand were tweezers.
"Where did you get them?"
"From my drawer."
"You have your own drawer for tweezers?"
"I have my own drawer for things you're looking for."
Dana took the tweezers, took a deep breath, grabbed — and pulled.
"Yes!"
She held the hair up to the light, like a fisherman with his catch.
"Look at her, Eyal. Look how she thrives. She gets all the nutrition that the hair on my head doesn't get."
That same drop in estrogen, the voice explained, makes the relative influence of the androgen hormones stand out more. That is why, in some women, the scalp hair may thin, while at the same time single coarse hairs may appear on the chin or above the lip.
"So it's not a malfunction. It's policy."
It's hormones. The head loses, the chin gains.
"Amazing. My body is running a transfer operation and I'm the last to know."
Eyal, who in the meantime had come closer to the mirror again, said carefully:
"Wait."
"What?"
"There's another one."
"What do you mean, there's another one?"
"Small. On the side. She's just starting."
Dana looked at him.
"Eyal, do you realize you're betraying me right now with my own chin?"
"You asked me to look!"
"I asked for support, not an intelligence report."
She grabbed the second one too and pulled.
"There. Now I'm clean. Now I'm a woman with no hairs on her chin."
For how long? asked the voice.
"Excuse me?"
A plucked hair grows back. She will return.
"Then she'll return. I'll be here. With Eyal's tweezers."
At 18:24 Dana's phone beeped.
Michal sent a message:
'What are you doing?'
Dana took a photo of the brush.
Sent it.
Wrote:
'Someone here is losing hair, and it's not the brush. Tell me you also have a hair on your chin.'
Michal answered immediately:
'One?'
'Dana. I have one I know by name.'
Dana stared at the screen.
'By name?'
'Her name is Sara. She comes back every holiday.'
'And how does Roi react?'
'He doesn't react anymore. He's seen her more times than he's seen his own mother.'
Dana laughed and wrote:
'I plucked two today.'
'Wait until you reach my age.'
'Michal, we're the same age.'
'Then wait for the next holiday.'
Dana put down the phone and opened the medicine cabinet.
In the corner stood a bottle of shiny oil she had bought last year, after seeing an ad at two in the morning.
On the label it said:
Strengthens. Nourishes. Brings back the shine.
"What do you say?" she asked.
That no product can promise to stop hormonal shedding. Gentle care of the hair, not pulling, not tying it too tight — that is reasonable. But promises on a bottle are mostly marketing.
"And that oil cost me like a dinner out."
At least it smells good.
Dana closed the bottle and put it back in its place.
"Wait, and when is it actually a problem?"
If the shedding is sudden, if patchy bald spots appear, or if there is a rapid and unusual change — it is worth having it checked by a doctor. Sometimes the cause is something else entirely, like the thyroid or an iron deficiency, and that is checked with a simple blood test.
"So not every hair is a symptom."
No. But a change that wasn't there before is worth attention.
"Noted."
You didn't note anything.
"I'll note it. In my head."
Like the tweezers.
"Quiet."
At 18:37 Dana finished arranging her hair, looked in the mirror one last time, and turned off the light.
Eyal waited for her in the kitchen.
"So," he said. "How are you?"
"Two hairs fewer on the outside, and one clump of hair fewer in the brush."
He looked at her and smiled.
"You're beautiful."
"Even with the hairs?"
"Even with. Even without. I've stopped counting."
"Correct answer."
"I learned."
The time was 18:41.
Dana discovered that her hair was not falling out. It was changing address.
Eyal discovered there are things you don't say to a woman holding tweezers.
Michal discovered she had long since stopped being the only one in a relationship with a hair that has a name.
And Dana?
She put the tweezers in the top drawer, in a fixed place, so she would remember where they are tomorrow.
The inner voice said nothing.
"Smart," said Dana.
He knew Sara was coming back for the holiday.
End of Chapter Twelve.
Continued in Chapter Thirteen: 19:03 — Sand in My Eyes
© 2026 Nurit Rozenblat. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed without the author's prior written permission.
