Sunday, January 23, 2011
Post One Hundred and Twelve: The Beginning.
It has started. The self replenshing coat of hair on my body has started to infiltrate the money maker. I found a rogue hair on my chin, and this guy wasn't pretty. A demon spawn of shiny black protein.
Before working in the mortuary I had some pretty lousy body image hang ups. I was just like any 20 something female, crawling out of the teen year trenches with mental bruises from pressures to be something other than what I am. My job then provided me with evidence to the odd addage "There's always someone worse off than you." It's fair to say that I'd rather have white skin and dark pubes than to be dead on a slab with white skin and dark pubes. Or just dead with any hair-istcal features.
Anyway, Sarah Silverman often talks about how hairy she is and she's still cool. (She doesn't look TOO hairy to me however.) It makes me feel a little better knowing that she shares the same miscreant enemy and might spend a small fortune on such hasty removal. If I ever find out that her claims are just a jab at her jewishness I'll be pretty dejected.
I wonder if this little hair was a reminder from God-o-evolutionary that however immature I might feel, 26 is definately in grown up territory. Will I blink and lose my bladder control? How long have I got until it's publicly acceptable to fart in public?