The commuter dance was taking longer than normal since the accident but it didn’t bother me. My schedule was fluid and I had a newspaper to bide my time, and a seat for comfort. Then it happened…
A woman in a very short-sleeved t-shirt began pointing at the metro map next to me. The clomp of hair under her arm was waving to me. I ignored The Hair as best as a man who is revolted by such things could but it was like one of those pictures LiLu shows on Thursdays – drawn in indelible mental ink. This woman, and The Hair, grabbed the overhead bar – a thatch of gnarled string on display for all the world.
The Hair started winking at me. Then The Hair got pissed because I kept trying to ignore her. Then it started to grow like the incredible hulk of hair because she was pissed. Before I knew it, there were natty locks round my imagination choking the life from me.
Fighting back was futile – the ropes were thick, strong, and crippling. I tried to run, but the car was too crowded to find safe distance. This was worse than the time I couldn’t breathe; the hair had hold of my mind.
Finally my stop neared, and I darted from my seat. I became that obnoxious commuter who attempts to bend laws of physics just to be one step closer to the door. I really just needed to be one more step away from The Hair.
I don’t know if it followed me, but I sprinted the escalator just in case.
That is just wrong.
Wrong.
(ps- was it braided? Beads or bows or anything?)
I totally just gagged.
It was just there, had there been ornamentation I probably would have had to run screaming like a little girl.
I don’t have terribly strong feelings about women with armpit hair – although it isn’t so common here, so it is kind of shocking – but I definitely understand that one thing that just suffocates you to the point where you need to flee.
I don’t have terribly strong feelings about it either, showing it, on the other hand, is different. And for the record, I don’t like seeing it on men either.
I feel your pain and horror… Have a question though, was she using deodorant? I hope so, otherwise the attack would eventually be on the nose as well, and I don’t know how can one survive that
I couldn’t see clumps of chalk if that’s what you’re asking.
Oh GROSS. And I thought my metro ride was bad on Sunday.
If my reading of your account, and that of others, is correct, then I’m sure it would have been better if I felt the way you felt.
I’m going to grow mine out for you.
See you August 7th…
Well if B can grow a mowhawk, I don’t think he can complain about that.
:O
Horror!
It really was rather frightening.
Ugh…alternate title: When Armpit Hair Takes on a Life of its Own.
I will certainly give you credit when I change the title for my memoirs.
i know this phrase is past it’s prime…but i think i just threw up a little in my mouth.
Past its prime or not I am pretty sure that this was exactly the situation for which it was created.
Some people might think socially enlightened men shouldn’t care about such “trivial” details; that it’s only ever about what’s inside…
Well, that’s the problem. It’s hard to think about what’s inside when distracted by low-hanging armpit hair growing outward by the inch. Also, it’s awfully hard to show what you’ve got on the inside and wear your heart on your sleeve when your armpit hair is overtaking your sleeve.
I think that social enlightenment is about not caring what other people do in the privacy of their own lives. This privacy wasn’t though.
EWWW
Word.
oh that’s just wrong. chick needs to cover up. and get a razor.
Cover – certainly; the razor is a personal choice.
enough to make you want to hire a car service. on credit.
I love using a car service, but using it everyday is a bit ostentatious, no?