Why Do We Even Grow Hair There?

Friday I was off during the day.  It’s usually my day off since theoretically 32 hrs at my regular day job, but somehow I seem to get suckered into working for either the week day job or the weekend job half the time.  And the half that I really do take the day off, I’m always rushing around cleaning house, paying bills and doing errands (’til I start the weekend job in the evening).  Which is what I did this Friday.

This is how my days usually start:

Lila has us perfectly trained to turn the faucet on (soft trickle, not a hard gush, thank you very much) every morning while we get ready.  And in the evening when we brush our teeth.  I change their water bowl every morning and again when I get home.  But oh no, not good enough for the Princess.  Further proof that cats really only love us for our opposable thumbs.

As I rushed around the house doing laundry, cleaning and washing dishes, the Frenchies had an all-out knock-down throw-down in the kitchen.  Accompanied by much hissing, tripping, cussing, general chaos and confusion.  And that was just me.

Dobby gets the upper hand - check out those wild eyes on Dude

Dobby gets the upper hand - check out those wild eyes on Dude


Dude makes his come-back!

Dude makes his come-back!


I don’t really know who won … it definitely wasn’t me.  Finally managed to get the chores done and hopped online to pay the bills and update my address on my driver’s liscence before rushing out the door just in time to make it to my appointment to have my bunghole lasered.  Yes, you read it right, stop re-reading the last line.

You see, I started shaving around the tender age of 12.  By 14, I had to keep it trimmed on the sides so it wouldn’t show out my bathing suit.  By 16, I was sportin’ the landing strip.  A shaving mishap at the age of 18 took me to new territory – the Baldie.  And I’ve never looked back.  Smooth as a schoolgirl.  (Well, a school girl that wasn’t like me, anyways.)

Shortly after Troy and I married I did a little moonlighting at a weight loss center (which did me no good whatsoever) that was affiliated with a laser hair removal center.  By now the PCOS I didn’t know I had was in full force and unwanted dark hairs had started appearing on my chin and in other never-seen-there-before areas.  I talked Troy into taking advatage of one their limited Buy-One-Body-Part-Get-Another-One-Free offer (that they actually give out at least once a month).  I figured I’d zap off the ol’ rug down below for good, and nip the goatee in the bud for free.  What a deal, eh?

When I went in for my free consultation, the tech took one look at my parts and declared, “Lord, girl, we need to get ya from your belly button to your bunghole.”  My mouth fell open and I made a shocked little squeak that she took to mean “Ok” and she had me sign on the dotted line.  I didn’t even know hair grew there!  Why?  What biological purpose does that serve?  I certainly didn’t realize I had hair there.  Gaaak!  Fry it!  Quick!

Turns out frying hair really isn’t that quick.  Two years and many zappings later (some painful, some tolerable, none fun), they tell me I have a 40% reduction in hair on my chin, a 60% reduction in the bush and wouldn’tyaknow it, the bunghole is 100% hair free.  Well, thank God for that. 

Turns out, you can’t have laser hair removal done if your pregnant.  I didn’t think so – and I wouldn’t want my baby(ies) born with strange spots on their heads that just won’t grow hair and an inexplicable fear of lasers.  When I asked if it would be possible to freeze my account if I got pregnant, I was told that they don’t do that and just by the way, my time with them will be up in May of 2009.  Whether or not all my bits are 100%.  Oh well, at least I can go knowing my bunghole will forever be hair-free.


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