I was breast-feeding KiKi the other day, and as I gazed down at her perfect alabaster skin, I noticed she had a single, dark hair on her upper lip.
A tad for young a ‘tache and months premature for Movember, was my initial thought, so I gently went to brush it off her lip when I realised it was indeed attached.
To. My. Nipple.
WTF is up with that????
Upon closer inspection, I did not discover any more than that one, single, protruding breast whisker (that no longer exists, FYI, for approx 4 weeks at least), but it made me sit back and take stock of the hirsute invasion I’m noticing on my previously silky-smooth lady body.
A prime example of this infiltration is (I tell you this in great confidence because it’s a bit of a secret) I used to have just one hair, slightly pubic, on my chinny, chin, chin.
One hair is a talking point, provided it is faithfully tweezed. A laughable matter of which to talk to your friends about, and more often than not, you’d find you’re not alone…..however, my one, single whisker now has a couple of mates.
Where one rogue whisker is funny, three is a hop, skip and a jump away from a goddamn beard.
A mere stone’s throw from a permanent gig at the circus like my gorgeous friend pictured here.
When did this happen? How did this happen??
Is it not enough that my boobs are no longer perky but pointing towards the ground and I have saggy knees to worry about?
Do I really have to grow random hairs like some old gorilla??
While we’re on the matter, what’s going on on the backs of my thighs?
The fronts of my thighs are so hairless that I’ve never had to shave or wax them. There simply is no hair to speak of there, except perhaps very fine body hair that really doesn’t count unless you’ve removing a Band-Aid……so why would I even look at the backs of my legs?
Surely they match the front, right?
It seems I have thigh mullets. It’s all business at the front, and party at the back, and I’m not happy about it.
Not one bit.
It’s not like it’s knee to bum cleft or anything, more like a patch or a toupee on the back of my legs. The problem with it’s proximity, though, is that it could be mistaken for a small animal hiding under my skirt.
I’m not even going to talk about my bikini-line.
I’ve boycotted the Brazilian after reading Caitlin Moran’s book (I wrote about it here). I mean, in truth, there is no longer a bikini line, as such, but it’s winter so no members of the public will be subjected to it, and anyone who may get a private viewing would, frankly, be so stoked at the opportunity that I doubt they’d notice the Mirkin factory I’m harbouring.
That’s the thing about winter, though right?
You have a couple of months where you don’t have to take yourself off to the Wax Emporium (AKA The Pubic Inquisition) and suffer the indignity of your legs in the air whilst someone applies scalding hot wax to your nethers, only to remove it a second later sometimes taking a layer of labia with it.
Why, oh why, do smooth bits feel so much nicer???
It really doesn’t seem fair. I’ll add it to the design fault list.
No, definitely something to skip in the winter months, particularly if you’re married with kids, because let’s face it, you’d feel ripped off if you did get the wax and then didn’t get laid before it was stubble again. We all know hairy minge increases the chances of rumpy, right?
Bring back the bush.
So, if you find yourself gazing down at your human fur leggings, thinking how you’ve really let yourself go this winter, just relax, and spare a thought for me, because I’m fast becoming a Wookie.
What should my Wookie name be, I wonder?