Thursday, October 14- Happy Birthday Dear...

So in 2000 my family was on a hike on Mt. Hood when I split my scalp open and we had to use one of those emergency call boxes to ring up some EMTs. It took about 10 minutes for them to arrive and when they did I had a bit of a townie surprise. The woman who came forward to examine my cut had THE LONGEST underarm hair I had ever seen. It took all my will power to keep my mouth shut as I stared in wonder at this social faux pas. I didn't understand. It was so gross. Why didn't she shave? Was she lazy? What did her partner think about it? Did he like it? He must. That's curious. She seem nice enough, and she is taking care of me. I should stop judging. Wow. It's just so LONG.

Needless to say, I survived and am now playing dirty hippie myself, for today I am celebrating the 2 month birthday of my underarm hair. That's right. I haven't shaved since I left the States and I'm not going to lie, it's pretty great. I totally understand why my EMT chose to go au naturale. For one thing, it's soft. Super soft. For another it's warm, and for someone who is perpetually cold that's a beautiful thing. Lastly, and this one truly mystifies me, it seems to do something magical with my sweat. Like making it disappear. I don't know how this is possible, because I sweat a ton, but it does. Yay super soft, warm and naturally absorbent underarm hair! You rock!

There have been some developmental stages that I have taken note of in the last two months. That moment when I first caught it in my peripheral vision, the day I could part it, the day it grew to 1 inch in length. -sigh- We've come so far. The funny thing is I sometimes forget how long it is and it startles me. For instance I'll be standing in the bathroom in my towel messing with my hair and I'll catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, and I'll look down because I think it's lint from whatever shirt I was wearing, and go to dust it off, but it won't come off. And that will scare me a little. And then I realize that it's my amazonian arm hair and I laugh, straighten it out carry on.

Having a secret stash of crazy long underarm hair amuses me to no end. We're approaching summer here and each time we go into town there are heaps of girls running around in short sleeve dresses, with not a hair out of place. As I pass them in my long sleeves and jeans that smell perpetually of poo, I wonder how they would respond if I, an EMT clad in a tank top and flowing skirt were to come to their aid. No doubt they would stare in horror and ask “Why?!” To which I would reply, “You really don't know what you're missing.”

Man hair. Don't knock it till you've tried it.