I remember my sweet dad sharing bedtime stories he lovingly created while blissfully listening to the deep timber of his voice resonating as I lay upon his chest. With fuzzy hairs peeking out from his V-neck tee, his chest meant comfort and tenderness and fatherly love.

As teenagers we had a range of ideas of what the perfect guy should look like. But across-the-board, as I remember it, we seemed to agree on one thing. A hairy chest was manly, virile and sexy.

Now those manly chests are subjected to man-scalping befitting a hairless cat.

What happened to all those virile shaggy torsos? I know! Waxed and dragged from their roots. And as this course of action waxes and wanes I only have one thing to say. Ouch.

As for me, and most of my friends, we made sure our legs and armpits were stripped, clean-shaven and whiskerless. The only thing we did ‘down there’ was to make sure strays were contained within our bikini bottoms.

Although I recognize that trends come and go I gotta ask, “whose great idea was pubescent mounds??”

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the inclination for a trim, tidy, orderly hoo-ha but going total bald eagle – what’s that about?

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO “EVERYWHERE DAADDY, DAADDY HAIR”??

The amount of fuzz allowed has apparently relocated to the patch above one’s eyes where brows lay…

thick,

thicker,

thickest,

tattooed

and lifted.

Currently, eyebrows are considered a most important facial feature. “They frame your face” is what I am told (WHO KNEW?). And mine are regrettably nearly imperceptible. Well isn’t this just great. I am now burdened with brow envy.

Mine have been dyed, powdered and gelled within an inch of their existence. I have considered a more permanent solution, but the potential for not-what-I-was-going-for permanency freaks me out.

And all those brow fixer uppers? Everywhere I look. Bangin Brows, The Brow Boss, House of Brows, Sassylash Brow Boutique and finally MR. Brow. Gosh, thanks for the reminder.

Taking in consideration my mostly hair-free self, it was shocking when I spied an unfamiliar strand poking through my chinny, chin, chin. In my inability to comprehend what I was seeing, I tugged ever so slightly and yup my skin came right along with it. It was no illusion.

Scrambling for a tweezer I pulled that errant hair lickety-split.

Subsequently, a hastily written agreement was drawn up and pdf-ed to my daughters to be DocuSigned – calling for immediate and hands-on removal of any future meanderings sprouting from my chinny, chin, chin. And you will be delighted to know that they have since followed through by taking a whisker or two by force.

I read somewhere that one could think of chin hairs as stray eyebrows … how very optimistic, f*%k you very much.

I have one hairless armpit due to radiation and legs that only get shaved during warm weather when I stand in front of a mirror and squint my eyes to determine if the state of those hairs are observable. As to the nether region … one daughter tells me that, “the bush is back” – the other declares , “no way!”.

Let’s not beat around the bush (sorry, I couldn’t resist). As far as MY lady parts – I’m sticking with what my eldest announced when she was four, “Mommy has fur.” TMI?

~image via Pinterest