A Touch of Hirsutism
Whilst making out with Cindi last night, I stopped to ask—very gently—if she would do something—not necessarily right there and then—about the few hairs growing above her upper lip. I had no idea what female facial hair removal involved. I figured you could simply and easily shave it off with a disposable razor.
“No,” Rich told me, this morning, at work. “It must be plucked, or removed with special creams, or by electrolysis.”
Cindi was rather upset at my request. “What’s the big deal?” I’d said, in the moment. “It’s only a few hairs.” But amongst all her many smoochers, I’d been the first to make mention of it.
She would not let me kiss her for the rest of last night. Did I make her feel like a hairy beast? Does this mean she enjoys my habitually unshaven face, along with my hairy chest and back? [I never thought to ask.] For the record, I don’t care for it myself. I’m particularly hostile toward the hair that sprouts from my ears and noses. [So sorry, only one nose—at last count.] I don’t even care for the hair that tops my head.
21 April 2000