Whiskers me timbers!

It’s funny and sad to admit, but in my short time on this earth I’ve managed to have some pretty memorable run-ins with excessively hairy women. Let me just say I don’t care for them and it’s always discovered by accident. Perhaps my disdain for it comes from the fact that I was gifted with the burden of a mammoth-like natural fur covering of my own. Admittedly, I have to go through a regular routine to keep it under control, but I think it’s for my partners benefit. No girl wants to rest her head on a hair chest and have lengthy hairs tickling her inner ear while she’s trying to sleep. Don’t get me started on the joys of shoulder and neck hair. But it’s the cards I’ve been dealt and I’ve got to work as best I can with what I’ve been given.

So when it comes to women and excess fur, its been my belief that there is no excuse for it. If I’m taking the time to properly shave and keep my personal forests within check, then I am allowed to criticize my female counterpart when she “drops the ball.”

There are actually multiple stories that I could transition to from here, as I’ve somehow managed to encounter a lot of female body-hair-quandaries in my time. But one story had its own special flavor that I felt made it stick out just a little more than most.

Let’s get it all out there so I don’t have to feel strange about it: I met this girl via an online dating website. When she showed up to the bar to meet me for the first time, she didn’t look too unlike her pictures. She even turned out to be a really sweet girl. She was a little obsessed with cats, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. Let’s call her Katie.

After our third date in about 10 days, we opted to go back to her place. We drank some wine, had sweaty sex, and then sat around talking about our interests, past, and future. I’d been drinking so I asked her if she minded that I stay over, she said she had been hoping I would. Just before bed, Katie left briefly to change into her pajamas. When she got back, she was wearing her “bedtime clothes,” I couldn’t help but stare. I just laid there with an inquisitive look on my face.

“What?” She asked, looking at me puzzled.

“Those have to be gayest pajamas I’ve ever seen!” I yelled laughing and throwing a pillow at her, “your shirt says, feeline sleeping and you’re covered with pictures of a sleeping cat!”

“Oh shut up! So what? I like cats!” she shouted, embarrassed, diving into the bed and rolling up in the covers.

“Quite a clever play on words!” I said softly into Katie’s ear while I draped my arm past her hip and pulled her into me.

She let out a lengthy sigh.

“I’m just kidding, it’s very cute.” I said pulling her closer and attempting to put on a genuine smile.
“It’s more of an old lady outfit-” I stopped myself mid sentence. Squinting at her face, I had spotted something. Above her lip, in-between the laugh lines of her mouth. A faint, thin brown, inch and a half hair was growing out of her face. It was positioned in the exact spot that a cat would grow its “whiskers.”
It couldn’t be,” I thought to myself, leaning in and getting a better look.
“What are you doing?” She asked shattering my deep gaze, having noticed that I was silently staring at her face.
“Nothing!” I said, kissing her on the cheek, “I’m really exhausted, I’m going to get some sleep,” I said flipping over, “I’m very tired.”
She turned out the lights and my mind raced over the possibilities of what I had just seen. I came to the conclusion that I must have seen something that wasn’t there and drifted off to sleep.
In the morning we both got up a little later than expected and I had forgotten all about the hair. We hopped into the shower together and began kissing. I turned my head upwards towards the shower-head as to let the water hit my face. Suddenly the thought of the stray hair snapped back into my head, “If it’s still there, then it has to be a real whisker.”
I looked down and sure enough, the thin lone hair (not quite the same thickness as a real whisker) still stood. She had a one and a quarter inch long hair coming from where a cat would have its whiskers and yet she hadn’t cut, plucked, or shaved it?!
I later found a statistic online that said the average female looks in the mirror or catches her own reflection 30 times a day. Furthermore, women on average take 12.5 minutes to put on make-up almost daily. That’s a lot of time in front of the mirror to not know that you’ve overlooked a whisker; a lengthy whisker at that. How would this even be possible?
But, what if she knew about it? What if she was all aware of its existence the whole time and knowingly kept it? What would that mean if she chose to keep it there? For what purpose? Did she think she was a cat? Had she known it was on her face all along, what did that say about her as person; allowing for a single strand of facial hair to grow so long? Questions flooded my mind as I drove home from her apartment.
I was confused and I needed answers. I had avoided hanging out with her for a week or so because I knew it would be all I’d be able to look at when I was with her.
I was a few drinks in with some friends at a bar and I felt compelled to explain the situation and get some advice. After a lot of laughter my friends began trying to help me fix the situation.
“Have you tried pulling it out while she’s sleeping? Or maybe just with your teeth?” One of my friends said.
“Yeah,” I mumbled apathetically, “what if she wakes up and freaks out?”
“-Or worse, she wants to keep it!” Another friend shouted laughing.
One of my female friends looked like she was in deep thought and pipped up, “First off, that’s gross. But there’s no way she doesn’t know it’s there. Women look at their faces too often. Are you able to deal with the fact that she might be aware of it and just want to keep it around because it makes her feel more like a cat-?”
Silence fell onto the group for a moment.
Staring intently at my whiskey-coke, I wiped condensation off the surface of the glass, “I’m going to have to ask her about it. I told her I’d see her tomorrow. It’s a deal breaker, so I have to ask her or just stop talking to her.”
As it turned out, she wasn’t able to make it on time to our date the following night. But, said she would call me when she got done with a little get-together with her co-workers. I got the call at about 11:30 PM.
“Hey hot stuff,” she said sounding a little drunk.”Wanna come over?”
“Yeah, that sounds good, I’m going to finish my beer and I’ll be right over.”
I arrived at her place with a nice little buzz from drinking with a few old friends at a bar down the street. I knocked on the door. As she appeared from behind it, I locked eyes with the whisker. I came in as she started to tell me about her night and I kept staring at the hair waiting for a lull in the conversation so I could bring it up. I never thought it was possible that a single strand of hair was so able to stress me out. Before I had a chance to say anything we were already in her room and she was on top of me kissing me passionately. I was nervous and also a little afraid that the hair might end up going into my nose and make me sneeze. Clothes started falling off and I made an effort to stick to kissing her neck to avert seeing or feeling the hair. I realized that I’d have to ask her after sex and settle for an evening of doggy-style so as to not stare at her whisker the whole time.
When both of us were finally finished we laid closely together and talked for a minute or two until a short silence fell over us. It was now or never.
“Hey,” I said clearing my throat then reaching towards her face with fingers in a plucking motion. “Look at that. It looks like you’ve got a little hair growing out of your face.”
She reeled back a bit and her eyes darted around the room, “Yeah, I know.” she said quickly.
“Oh.” I said softly, putting my hand back down beside me. “I, uh. Alright…”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Yeah…” She said.
A long heavy silence filled the room to the brim when she suddenly leapt out of bed and left the room. A few moments later she was back. “There, it’s gone okay.” She said crawling back into bed attempting to snuggle into me.
Looking down with a bit of a grimace, “Did you think you were a cat?”
She turned her head to look upward to at me for a moment, then turned back and rested her head on my chest.
“Hmph…” I said aloud reaching over to her nightstand and turning off the lamp, “that’s pretty weird.”

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