My Wife Thinks I’m Hairy
I KNOW THAT A STATEMENT like the title of this posting can lead to mental imagery that has me appearing as a cross between Chewbacca and an Old English Sheep Dog. Just let that image go. Let me explain.
When I say that my wife thinks I’m hairy I want you to realize that I am indeed hairy, compared to a Honeydew Melon or a Stained Glass Window.
I’ve known people who are much hairier than I am. But, in my wife’s world – I’m hairy.
I do have to admit that I have hair on my arms that could be, in a severely drunken moment, macraméd into something quite attractive and useful. Actually, that applies only to my right arm. For reasons known but to God and Vidal Sassoon the hair on my left arm is much shorter, almost normal short. Go figure. Of course, that makes the contrast with my right arm much more outstanding. I can’t help it. It wasn’t my idea. GET OFF MY BACK ALREADY!
Oh – I’m sorry about that outburst. You see, I’m sensitive because it’s my back that seems to be the area that really spawned my wife’s comment.
My back, even I must admit, has a certain “Mighty Joe Young” quality about it. It has never really bothered me – I can’t see it, except for quick glances in the bathroom mirror.
From all reports, my back is much hairier than my chest. My chest I can see and although I notice an increasing grayness – not fifty shades – it doesn’t look overly hirsute. My back, however, is a different story.
My wife thinks she has a solution to this. She calls it “Manscaping.”
She said that she would like to mow messages into my back hair.
“If you can read this you’re too close.”
“I’d rather be sailing.”
I’m concerned that if she is angry at me I could end up with –
“Don’t let this happen to you!”
This whole “Hairy John” business never really became an issue until one night a couple of years ago.
It was after a long day and my aging muscles were hurting. In bed, my loving wife offered to give me a backrub. All went well until I heard her murmur, “Uh Oh. I think I just lost my wristwatch.”
We never did find it, but, even now late at night, if things are quiet, we can still hear a faint, “tick, tick, tick…”
OK, so that part isn’t really true. She did find it after a couple of days.
I know that this is a bit of a personal revelation, something I don’t usually do, but if I can deal with my hair during a high wind, you can deal with it here.