Here Kitty Kitty

Like most Americans, my ancestors came from Europe.  When I’m asked “what are you?” I answer Irish.  We’ve got Noonan, Seagriff, McGreavey, McThis and McThat all over the family tree.

And then there’s my father’s mother.  Minerva DuBois (pronounced Du Bwah).  Her ancestors came from Lorraine, a small town on the France/Germany border.  As a child, surrounded by so many Irish references, Irish music, corned beef, cabbage and beer, I found it exotic that my grandmother was French.

Of course the only thing I knew about the French was from watching Pepe Le Pew cartoons.

My parents didn’t share my romanticism of the French.  When we got a French Poodle they named him DuBois because it was the only French name they knew. 

Anyway, I bring up my French heritage to explain why I’m so damn hairy.  French people are known to be a hairy people.  It’s in my blood, and by the time I was eleven I sported the very unattractive unibrow and gorilla legs. 

My mother was blessed with fair Irish genes.  She has the legs of a hairless cat and has never had to take a razor to her legs. I, on the other hand, inherited the dark hairy French genes from my father’s side.  Like his dark hairy sisters. 

They were the aunts who came out from Brooklyn once or twice each summer to swim in our pool and had tufts of what looked like brillo pads sticking out the sides of their bathing suit bottoms.

My brothers and I were disgusted and snickered behind their backs.  But as I entered puberty and looked at my unibrow and hairy legs I knew that my aunts were my personal Ghosts of Christmas Future.  If I didn’t stay alert and get the proper tools, my own brillo pad wasn’t too far down the road. 

Weed Whacker

It has been a life-long battle, and I’ve used any means necessary to tame those French genes.  I’ve shaved, waxed, plucked and weed whacked.

My whole life I've had to shave my legs every one or two days.  Well, at least in the summer or at the beginning of a new relationship.  Now that I'm an AARPer the leg hair doesn't grow as fast as it used to.  I can go two weeks and have only a bit of stubble.  

But something happened a few months ago that I’m going to share with you, but don't you dare judge me!  I forgot about my leg hair.  It grows so slow and I can't see it.  Okay, so maybe it’s because I need reading glasses for everything nowadays and don't look down at my legs with my glasses on -- whatever -- I forgot all about the hair.

And then one day the phone rang as I was getting out of the shower.  I ran down the hall and felt what I can only describe as a “blowing in the wind” on my legs.  I was intrigued by this sensation.  Could it be?  Could my leg hair have grown so long that it actually moves?

So I did what any normal person would do -- I ran up and down the hallway naked a few times to test the air currents against my legs.  Then I put on my reading glasses (and a robe) and examined my legs.  Some parts were as smooth as a baby’s butt, and then there were patches of inch-long strands.  They were amazing, no wonder they blew in the breeze!  

Needless to say, I’m a bit more vigilant now.  I’ve told myself that not being able to see the hair is no excuse because I still have enough of my brain cells to understand the passing of time.

Old Sparky

In my late 30’s I had my moustache and chin hair removed by going for electrolysis treatments.  I went once a week for two years.  What you might not know is that electrolysis doesn’t always last.  You electrocute those little suckers and after two years you declare them dead.  You're wrong.  It may take a decade or more, but like little Phoenixes, they arise from the ashes – and they bring along new friends.

The Phoenix Hair Follicle Has Risen!

Years ago I saw a low budget science fiction film where a guy is electrocuted and comes back to life as a crazed monster.  That’s my facial hair.  Before I killed them with electrolysis they were soft dark brown follicles.  They have come back to life tough, black and angry.  Think 1970’s Black Panther. 

But as bad as my Black Panther hairs are, their new friends are meaner.  They are short, white and nasty.  Think Dick Cheney.  When I pluck them, they hurt me. 

I’ve gone for a wax on lunch hour and by the time I get back to my desk and look in my 10x mirror the mean little white Dicks are back, taunting me into plucking them so they can sting me.

Yesterday was a first for me.  I found hair on my face that I can only describe as

CAT WHISKERS!  

It's kind of freaking me out.  There are hairs growing in little patches on both sides of my face that if I were a cat, they would be whiskers.  Is this a cruel joke that the hair on my legs finally eases up, yet I'm becoming a cat? 

Let me tell you something, if I start sticking my ass up in the air and going "MEOW" like a cat in heat, you better all watch out!

Larry and Danny Ramos Gomez are brothers with hypertrichosis (too much hair).   A production company is working on a reality TV show featuring Larry, who is divorced, in which he will look for a new love.    MEOW!!!  Hey, ya never know.  

http://myamazingfact.blogspot.com/2009/07/8-very-hairy-people.html



… and then there’s always Pepe Le Pew ...