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Weird Hairs.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Jul. 26, 2005

We’ve all done it at one time or another, I can almost guarantee. You’ve shaved, plucked, waxed or cut them haven’t you? No? What? Don’t tell me you are some cave dwelling fur-man with broadband in Borneo.

Liar.

You’ve plucked at least one weird hair.

Women have them too. Oh, come on ladies. Let the mystery go. They all know we do it.

I am blessed with having almost no hair on my legs or even arms. My underarms? Nary a hair. I shave maybe twice or three times a month. And no… I don’t have a mustache to wax or bleach and I have never had to pluck a toe hair… praise be to Jesus.

But, yeah. I have a weird hair.

I quit “delicately shaping” my eyebrows a few years ago. Ok, I admit it. I was plucking the hell out of them and I looked like I was constantly surprised or had just been witness to a flashing in the parking lot on my way into the office. I had twelve very delicate eyebrow hairs left and I decided to let them cultivate.

I couldn’t support my eyebrow pencil habit.

And after the shaving incident* when I was twee, I didn’t want to push things too far with the little eyebrow hairs I had left. (*Stop laughing Stephanie.) I tried shaping them but then I got all OCD, and ya’ll know how that goes… Oh yes you do.

First it starts with a margarita, fajita and waxing party… just you and the girls. Or, maybe just me and Trix, dancing around in our underoos whilst the depilatory worked. Then on to finding the perfect razor… the one that worked with the shaving cream the best, no wait, the gel!

Then it spiraled out of control in the early part of 2002 and I found myself still in search of perfect hairless Chihuahua-ness. I did it. Oh yes. I went for. A. Brazilian. Wax.

I have no idea how it happened. One minute I was a perfectly insane woman approaching thirty, the next moment, I had my leg thrown over the shoulder of a women I had just met ten minutes earlier and she was chatting me up like it was perfectly normal to be ripping my hairs out by the root whilst looking into the secret depths of my princess.

I may have blacked out, I’m not sure, but I am pretty sure I paid someone some pretty hard earned money for that treatment.

And yeah, it lasted. And I felt like a dirty, dirty girl with a little secret that no one knew about (except the waxing masochist, the receptionist at the spa and of course Stacey… poor Stacey) – for about three weeks. Until it started to grow in. And then I went through puberty all over again. 12 hairs at a time. Yay.

But that still doesn’t explain the weird hair.

I was in Crockett, TX at a salon doing advertising sales and the topic of conversation came up about electrolysis, whether or not to put it in the ad… (for the record, bad idea.) and the salon owner made the comment, “My momma swears that if you have a weird chin hair or knuckle hair or whatever, if you pluck it at a full moon and bury it… it will NEVER come back.”

Um.

Have any of you ever done this?

Dudes? You can weigh in too. Cuz ya’ll get them crazy eyebrows when you start getting older and then there is the ear and nose hair issue. What about those extra long chestal hairs in the midst of the normal ones?

When I was young and got away with dancing in a little tank top with my Rocky Mountain® jeans and little else… I remember going out to the concrete “patio” at Bullwinkles one evening in Nacogdoches with Troy (a dance partner & buddy) to cool off. We were hanging out and I dug my smokes out of my pocket and lit up and we were just hanging out talking and he goes, “Hang on, you have something on you…” and went to wipe something off of my chest bone – not the boobage area mind you. But like right where someone would poke you if they wanted to be a meanie and uh, poke you.

He wiped.

And wiped. And then bent down and lifted my chin with a finger and crinkled his eyes and said, “Um, it’s attached.”

I was all, “WHAT?! What is ON MEEEEEEEEE???!!!!!”

Ya’ll. I had a chest hair.

My face is so hot telling you this.

It was no bigger than an eyelash. But the little fucker was all mine. Hairy-Chest McSue.

I left it alone and within days it fell out, I must have been all testosterone-Y or something that week or something, but I had a hairy chest.

And now? Yeah, I have a beard.

Well, not a beard. Just a tiny little beard hair. Or a misplaced eyelash. Whatever. It is on the left side of my face above my jaw line. My beard. Oh, how proud I am.

But I could NOT leave this one alone. I plucked it. And now? I have to pluck it every month or so. Maybe it disappears for three months and then comes back, but… my beard. It’s my weird hair.

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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