The chin hair's connected to the ...

Slave to fashion and beauty I am not.


But sometimes, reality compels that certain beauty remedies must take place.

To prevent being mistaken for a "lovely" Cro Magnon woman, I will sometimes trim, tweeze and pluck out the odd vestige of the hirsute past of my ancestors. It may look good on them, but trust me when I tell you, it's not attractive on me.


As I have gotten perilously closer to the half century mark, my legs haven't needed so much shaving as has my chin, lip, cheeks and eyebrows. I fear that I look like a blond version of the museum exhibits at the Smithsonian. Ooh, ooh, aah, aah. I never have subscribed to the notion that I am descended from the characters on "The Planet of the Apes". However, I may be descended from their hair. That may be a separate DNA study altogether.


The frustrating part of all that trimming, plucking and tweezing is that I am a real baby when it comes to yanking out those hairs. You'd think after all the agony I've put my body through over the years that ripping a tiny hair out would be a walk in the park.


Sadly, I have discovered an anatomical truth that few realize: the chin hair's connected to the brain cell... directly... through some kind of ganglia that connects it to the most pain-filled receptor in the entire body.


Unlike those women on TV ads who can wax their legs and smile as they rip down to the follicles, I have to grit my teeth and bite my tongue to prevent the screaming that would most assuredly come out of my mouth otherwise.


How can truly hairy women stand all that wax and rip jazz? Perhaps in their minds, the Cro Magnon woman from which they sprung is immune to the pain.


I am reasonably certain that my Cro Magnon woman was a wuss.


If left to grow on its own recognizance, can I make the hair long enough to apply for a part time gig with the side show? Or is there another chick who has beat me to the job because her DNA was all ape? Either way, tempting as it sounds to make money from the furry coating, I truly don't want to be known as the woman who can braid her chin hairs.I'd much rather look like those smooth-skinned beauties who grace the covers of magazines. They look like they don't even OWN any follicles on their faces.


I realize that they are altered, appliqued and airbrushed to be more than they can be under laboratory conditions. I've seen proof of it. And after the digital manipulations occur, their own mothers would be hard pressed to identify the child that is theirs in real life.


But is it too much to ask that some of that digital perfection be rendered in MY direction? My sons will be just fine with facial hair... I'll donate ALL that I don't currently want or need. It's only fair that I do so. They are my sons, they are DUDES and facial hair is expected on men.


Where is the digital master of beauty who can keep me from experiencing the pain of yanking out my brain cells through each follicle? Hasn't The FDA developed some kind of Jetson-like technology that will allow me to literally 'put my face on" and look presentable under all traffic conditions? 

If not, they have sure been wasting the money we give them! While they are deployed into the U.S. of A. and are out inspecting pig carcasses, surely they can spare some of their best scientists to make sure women look more like women and less like museum worthy specimens?


We study cow flatulence on government grants. Can't we spend a dime or two working on hair removal?


I think the last tweezer session has rendered my brain numb.


Maybe ice cream will help.


But now I'm worried that those same less than benevolent science types will discover that ice cream creates facial hair and animal crackers cement that hair to the deepest recess of the brain tissues cell by cell.


Is it a realistic fear? Dare I risk the damage?


Maybe if there is chocolate sauce on top...


Hey, if I'm gonna go hairy, I'm gonna go with chocolate sauce dripping down my whiskers.

And Satana laughed...

When you leave the PT pool and the kindly sister of Satan says "You are gonna hurt after this session" and she is smiling... take her at her flame throwing word.

Today was the Dante's Inferno Poolside.

Doing water therapy is healing and restorative. In that way that I mean "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"

We started with the exercises that I learned in the last pool session. I was proud that my diligence in home exercising was paying off. So far, so fairly painless.

THAT was about to change.

What strikes fear into the hearts of PT patients everywhere is the cute little phrase, "Today, we're gonna try a couple of NEW things!" They smile when they say it. Almost being friendly. Lulling you into a false sense of security. Making it seem like we are all chums, pals, buddies... but soft, what is that evil laughter I keep hearing?

"Come over here to the drop off."



The DROP OFF!!!???

Then the real fun begins... with an angelic smile on her face (and by that I mean Hell's Angels), she demonstrates that I will be placing the surgical leg on the edge of the cliff. Then, with the alleged good leg, I will be performing a series of leg lifts in all directions while allowing full weight bearing to take place. Yippee!

The thrashing around convinced Satana that I needed a little help. So I was given a pair of pool floats that looked a lot like foam barbells with 6 weights on each one. Positioning them under my arms and using my hands to move the upper three 'weights' per side up and down to alter my relative vertical position in the water, I began to perform all kinds of leg lifts.

Just when I thought the paramedics would have to drag me from the pool, it was time to ride the bicycle in the water. That isn't all that easy...

I had worked my way up to 6 minutes on the stationary bike in the gym yesterday. Today, I got to "ride the water bike" for about 20 minutes.

Solemnly, I testify to you that yes, indeedy, it is possible to watch your legs turn into spaghetti. Don't be jealous. I'm going to crush up a bunch of Percocet and rub it directly onto my ankle. I plan to add some marinara sauce later on.