Hairy Beast

I am a hairy hairy beast. I have to be very diligent about shaving my legs and waxing my face, or I very soon look not unlike Sasquatch in penny loafers.

I have the eyebrows of a grandfather, or a lot like Andy Rooney.

Sad, really.

Fortunately, I have been blessed with the small mercy of that facial hair being light coloured and fine, instead of what it could be, dark and coarse. This is good, except in bright sunlight, when, at certain angles, I look like a thousand tiny spiders have spun webs all over my face and are perhaps waiting to crawl out of my facial orifices. It's plain creepy.

I was born this way. My mom says that when I was born, a full month early, I was covered in downy hair, like a baby monkey. I wonder if she was disappointed when she was told she'd given birth to a healthy baby girl, and not an adorable shit-slinging monkey baby. Monkey babies are cuter than human babies, hands down. Yes, even yours.

That birth hair fell out, but over the course of the next decades, I re-grew a bountiful pelt hither and yon. And now I spend a lot of time and money trying to keep it from swallowing me whole.

I had my arms waxed yesterday. Here's the before:

And the results:

Just so you know, the yellow stuff is wax, not my skin.

And before you bring it up, I will never get one of those "Brazilian" waxes. I'm not Brazilian and life can only handle so much horror. And I've seen the entire movie "Coyote Ugly". I know horror.