I have about 101 billion things that I need to do, but instead of doing them I’m going to write a post about body hair. Why? Because I like procrastinating and I’ve already caught up on the latest Downton Abbey episodes. So, what the hell.
A few months ago I decided that it was time to build a furry fortress around my body. I wanted to keep all others at a safe distance and becoming unkempt was the best option. It’s sort of like those thorns in Cinderella – they covered the castle walls and kept the place safe for 100 years. I wanted to became a princess in my very own hairytale.
How does one earn the title of her hairyness? Well, if you’re lazy, it’s pretty damn easy – and I am exceptionally lazy. I like taking quick showers – not having to worry about shaving 99% of my body (that’s what it felt like), not worrying about all of those unnecessary nicks and cuts (why should I come out the bathroom every day looking like I just made a botched suicide attempt?).
I also LOVE that it takes me less time to get dressed in the morning – all dresses and skirts are automatically disqualified (unless I wear thick leggings, but those don’t feel great if your legs look like two glue sticks that got caught in a lint trap).
I’m sure you’re thinking, “Geez, Happy, if you’re so ‘dis-concerned’ about your appearance, then why don’t you wear the damn skirts and let your two leg beasts out to roam free?”. Well, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, even though I’ve learned to accept myself for the hairy little hobbit that I am, I’m still aware that most people think that body hair is something to be reviled; an unspoken ‘thing’ akin to Voldemort and why most restaurants don’t have open kitchens.
Well, I have a question for you, if it’s so reviled then WHY THE FUCK IS IT GROWING ALL OVER MY BODY? If we hate it so much then shouldn’t body hair have been selected against during our electric slide across the evolutionary dance floor? I mean, REALLY, is there REALLY so much wrong with a woman having a little fuzz on her upper lip? Is it honestly so awful that my underarms look like a Grateful Dead concert?
Is it so TERRIFYING that I could probably braid my boob hair?… Well, um… yes, it is a tiny bit terrifying…
I have a special ‘friend’ who lives on my left boob. I should introduce you, his name is ‘Sal’. He didn’t have a name at first, I was secretly hoping that he wouldn’t live past infancy, but then when he grew larger I thought I should probably baptize him and raise him as my own.
I get it, I’m hairy. I’m an ‘all natural’ woman. But, WTF? I’d probably be laughed out of a Hungarian nudist colony. I’m so hairy that Larry Gomez Ramos wouldn’t want to see me naked (maybe his brother Danny would, who knows).
But, I can’t blame Sal for being who he is. That would be wrong, that would be ungrateful. Someday when I’m naked in the Arctic (It could happen, stay with me on this), Sal might be the only thing that keeps me from freezing to death – wrapping me in his loving, hairy embrace. Or, when I’m old and can’t afford a boob job, I can just wrap Sal around my neck and prop my tatas up like a clothesline (I’m a resourceful woman).
So, tonight I pay homage to Sal and all of his follicle hugging brothers and sisters that live en mass across the landscape of my body. May we all live in peace and harmony…
When summer comes, this bitch is breaking out the razors.