Little Bastard

Okay, so facial hair. What's up with that? BTW, if you're a guy, this does not concern you; you are whisker jaded. Besides, women don't have facial hair! Now go clean your tool.

Are we alone? Ladies, I don't mind telling you that I appreciate facial whiskers like Frankenstein appreciates a good bonfire; like my cat Matilda appreciates a terrible-two-year-old with a flyswatter; like guys appreciate their Mr. Machismo being called Señor Chihuahua. Oh yes, that much.

This morning on my way to work, I'd stopped at a red light and noticed my visor mirror open. I proceeded through the light and reached up to flip it shut when the sun shined at just the right angle along my jawline, and there in my reflection, doing the poo-poo-heenu-heenu, was a silvery chin whisker with the length of a pube and the sheen of dental floss. I jerked in horror and swerved my car, nearly running a guy off the road. As he laid on his horn, flipped me the bird, and mouthed a litany of profanities through his window, I wondered, How in hell did I miss this sucker? Astronauts could see it from outer space.

Immediately I tried to rub, swirl, scrape, and otherwise pluck that sucker out with my bare fingers. Out! Out! Little bastard! To no avail. Without tweezers then, I was forced to huddle in my cubicle the entire day where no one could look at me and shiver in disgust.

Is it me, or was the Big Guy Upstairs hittin' the Tekillya a little too hard when he made us estrogenders? Think he was stumbling around up there in the clouds, giddy at how hysterical it would be if he planted a couple tufts along Evie's jawline? Time-released follicles engineered to sprout a little surprise just when we started to really appreciate our femininity? (And don't get me started on the incongruous female moustache.)

I guess he could have just been confused, right? Afterall, the BGU had never made a woman before. He surely had to be looking at his Miraculous Recipes book and debating over how much hair was too much and how much was just not enough. Let's give the girls just a smidge, right here. I could be wrong. I was wrong about something just last month.

You'll have to excuse me now. I'm marching into the bathroom to take matters into my own hands. Yup, I've got the Antidote. $4.95 and all sharp, shiny jaws of high-precision, slant-tip stainless steel.

Say hello to my leetle friend, Bastard ManWhisker!

P.S. I told my daughter I would not blog about the whiskers on her chin, cuz she doesn't want anybody to know, so I'm not going to tell you.

P.S.S. Boys, you can come back into the room now. Just put your tool away.

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