Urban Farm girl strikes again!
Source- and a side note this is CAKE!
It was a Friday evening, I was soaking in a sea of bubbles, admiring my newly painted toes by the candle light. The scent of orange blossoms and yalang yalang filled the air. I gingerly sipped a glass of bubbly. Life was good.
Wait scratch that...
It was Friday, that much is true. The rest was a great big lie. There were no bubbles, not even shampoo. The kids were playing coffee shop/ science lab in the tub again. It is because of them I no longer buy quality hair care products and I look like someone from the walking dead. It's a bit easier to forgive them when the empty bottle says Herbal Essences. So there I was in a questionably clean tub with no bubbles to hide my "wholesome figure". Which is just a nice way of saying you have to tuck in your fat roll every time you stand up, your arms jiggle like Oprah’s and your ass would never, never fit in a pair of low rise skinny jeans again!
But like all wholesome women know we have two assets working in our favor, yup we've got boobs. So after I finished counting my stretch marks, 1 million, 3 hundred, 58 thousand 6 hundred and 2, my eyes drifted upwards. I smiled to myself, you old girls don't look so bad. 2 kids, 7 years of breastfeeding later and you've still got it, at least while you're immune to the gravitational pull floating nicely on the water. And in that moment all seemed right with the world. But these little pleasures never last long and in the snap of a finger my world came crashing down.
You see, that's when I saw it. Right there before my very eyes...A hair! A dark, strangely straight hair ON MY AREOLA! Yes I said areola, not nipple. It is physiologically impossible to grow a hair on your nipple. (But enough with the science lesson). I screamed and clutched my chest. Surely I've suffer enough. Dear sweet baby Jesus! I moved my hand and looked again. It was still there. I squeezed my eyes firmly shut and started pondering what this would mean for my future. How could I ever wear a bathing suit again? A lace bra? Become a playboy centerfold? How could Drew ever be happy being married to a woman with more chest hair than him? I was starting to hyperventilate.
Then the answer came to me, I would call Ashley. She is the master tweezer at work. She does eyebrows, chin hairs, neck hair even. Surely one little chest hair wouldn't be too much for her. I had to talk myself down, this was crazy. It's just one little hair. I will just pull it out. Yes that's what I'll do. Drew will never have to be emasculated. He will never have to know. Just one quick pull and it will be over...... and if it grows back????? I will reduce our grocery budget and save for lazer hair removal. 10 dollars a week for 50 weeks I calculated. Totally doable.
I stepped out of the tub and reached for the tweezers. Surely a mother who birthed two children, one completely drug free, could handle the pain of plucking a breast hair, I told myself. Just like a band-aid. But as I ripped there was no pain. None at all. I've lost all feeling in my nipples I thought. Everyone told me this would happen if I insisted on letting the kids self wean at 4.
As I examined the hair more closely I realized that I had seen a hair like this before, yes I was sure of it. The hair was very familiar indeed. Long and straight and oddly grey......Joe. The hair belonged to our cat Joe! I fell to my knees and wept with joy. I don't think I had ever been so grateful for anything in my life. I skipped to my room, my wholesome body bounced all the way and just that once I didn’t care. My breasts were hair free, life was good. I slipped into my pajamas and into my unmade bed with my sweet grey cat tucked in close.