Skip to main content

Freak Hairs

Okay, so this blog is supposed to be about fat and such, but since I'm covered under the term "Body Issues," I want to talk about freak hairs.
Now, my hair (from my head), is always falling out and tickling the bare skin on my chest/shoulders. I don't mean this in a stress-clump way, but rather a single straggler way. I'm fairly certain that I am not alone here. I'm also pretty sure that I'm not the only girl who's ever found a longer-than-it-should-be hair growing from somewhere other than her head, which is what just happened to me. I felt what I thought was a straggler on my collarbone, but when I picked it off I found it was attached. I was horrified. Of course, when I pulled it, I found out it was so blond it was almost white, and I'm sure nobody else could have noticed it. But still. Ew.
So what's the deal with the freak hairs? Other girls in my life have found them too, some of them on their faces, and my lovely brother was kind enough to point one out to me that had appeared on my neck! They seriously sprout overnight. One of my best friends had one, at least an inch long, on her face, and it was dark, and I would have noticed it if it had been there the day before. But it appeared out of nowhere! Can someone please explain to me why any kind of benevolent Deity would do this to us??
We already have to tame the hair that we expect: monthly salon visits, regular bikini waxes, new razor blades to shave legs/underarms. Some girls have to bleach or wax their upper lips and even their arms. So why, God, why add these insane, disgusting, completely unexpected little bastards to our lives? With the amount of effort, time, and money we already spend on hair control, I think it's cruel and sick that I have to check my entire body any time my boyfriend isn't in the room, in case a long hair has grown from my elbow or (god forbid) my back or (god FORBID) my chest.
I know this was a bit of a non-sequitur, but I'm feeling pretty shaken. To any guys that read this post, I'm sorry if I grossed you out, but that was the risk I had to take to make this secret shame public. We can't keep pretending we're hairless! Not that we should stop shaving/waxing/etc, because ew, but you guys should damn well appreciate what we go through! And maybe wax for us, just once.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This book stuff is harder than it seems...

So as I think I may have mentioned, I have to write a book for my MA in Creative Nonfiction, and I decided to write a memoir about this whole GB experience, including childhood stuff and family dynamics in addition to the process of surgery and the mental and physical results of the change.  I thought it would be so easy.  I mean, I spend 90% of my time thinking about my body anyway, how hard could it be to put those thoughts down in the form of an interesting, structured narrative? NOT, that's how easy.  I haven't written one single word of the book, and I'm having a really hard time starting.  And the longer I put it off, the more afraid I am of failing at my goal to write a funny, frank narrative; I'm terrified it'll end up as a 'poor me' memoir, and I'll have proven my dad right in saying that this project is self-indulgent and useless.  And that's not the only surprise stumbling block... When I tell people what I'm writing about, they al...

Nothing tastes as good as thin feels?

That old Upper East Side adage has been running through my mind all week. Ever since I got my visa to go back to London and started counting down the days I had left of fresh, delicious California cuisine. I recently got to within a couple pounds of my goal (well, not my goal weight, but my goal of getting below a certain hated number), and now I’m struggling with a very difficult decision: to eat or not to eat? I have an opportunity here. I could be below the dreaded number by the time I leave for London, if I’m willing to give up all badness and only eat healthy, low-calorie foods like vegetables sans olive oil and salads with no cheese or nuts. But then I would be sacrificing my last week of yumtastic treats like Trader Joes Mini Peanut Butter Cups and delicious grilled asparagus with olive oil and steak, glorious steak! Maybe the choice would be easier if I had a point of reference, but I’ve never been thin, so I have no idea how it feels. What I do know is that a lot of thing...

More scars, inside this time.

I was supposed to get married yesterday.   I had the dress, the caterers, the guest list – most importantly I had the man, whom I loved with a certainty I’d long thought impossible. But I didn’t.   Get married, or have the man, as it turned out.   I was cut brutally loose, with little warning, and spent the summer floundering and desperately trying to weave together some semblance of a life for myself from the shreds of who I was before things imploded. The good news: I’m getting there.   I’m in therapy, which is helping me strengthen my emotional core; I’m dating new people, which is a constant reminder that I’m not totally worthless to every male member of the human race; I’m actively looking for a full-time job (and the health insurance that comes along with it); and I’m reconnecting with my amazing, wonderful girlfriends, a gang of whom spent the weekend with me at a vacation cabin in Healdsburg, distracting me from my sorrows w...