Ah, Movember… The month where men walk around like 70s porn stars turned pedophiles. Tom Selleck they ain’t, my friends. I also love Movember as everyone thinks that I too am participating in it for charity. When really I’m just a lazy ChiaPet in desperate need of a pair of facial pliers, and the energy to do something about it!
And it’s only gotten worse as I’ve aged… both the hygienic laziness and the amount of unwanted hairs that have sprung up. I’ll let you in on a little secret: Aging Women = weird-ass hormones = random hairs in random places. And this fact, coupled with the laziness factor, I’ve willingly allowed myself to morph into Mama Chewbacca. And I just can’t be bothered to break out the ole’ weedwacker. Ya know?
Oh sure, you hear of those “vintage” women who go on and on (and on!) about their raging ‘whore’mones… (Ugh! Envy is a terrible thing, is it not?). But have you noticed it’s always the skinny ones who say this? “Oh, I love my voluptuous curves!” Ya, I bet you do… you 100 pound, size 0, B cup, carrot-nibbling bunny! Try this one on for size, why don’t you… Put on a sumo fat suit and THEN try and have sexy time with your sweetie… I dare you! The reat of us bring a whole new meaning to the ‘Big Bang Theory’.
As if my sumo sex suit and Chewbacca Syndrome aren`t bad enough… the other day, I happened to look down and see a long, white hair on my chest. “Whatev’, just cat hair”, I thought. Only when I went to pluck it off, my skin rose up with it like a f*cking teepee.
Turns out, in addition to my Play Off Season leg hairs and my Movember stash, I’m apparently now growing a patch of chest hair! THIS is the reason G-d made wine!
I know, you’re probably thinking “just pluck the bloody thing and get over yourself“. Fair enough! Only, here’s the thing… I HAD just plucked the stupid, white, long-ass hair the day before. And it came back! IT. CAME. BACK.
But rather than worry that, unbeknownst to me, I may be undergoing a sex change… I decided to be optimistic about the whole thing with a wine-glass-half-full approach: I now look at my random, long-ass chest hair is proof of my super powers as a woman! Not only do I grow beautiful babies, but I also happen to grow chest hair (Singular… For now, anyway!). That`s right, where my stretch marks are my tiger stripes… my lonesome chest hair is simply the fuzzy lining on the beast. (Work with me here, ok? `Cause I’m one step away from the ledge on this one!) Plus, Big J could use some unexpected teeth flossing every now and then… if you know what I mean!
So next time someone tells me I need to “grow some hair on my chest”, I’ll proudly rip open my shirt Superman style, and do a little Godzilla chest pumping. I just hope no one tells me to “grow a set of balls“… Cause, at this rate, who da` hell knows what’s in store for Mama Chewbacca next! Sigh…