Hair (the neck-kind)

I have a complex relationship with the thick black hair that grows out of the middle of my neck.

On the one hand, I admire its tenacity. Thicker and blacker than the rest of my hair, it has chosen a pore in the direct center of my neck to make its home. Were this hair on my head, people would complement me on the freakishly rapid growth of my thick, shiny locks. They would ask me what product I use and “tsk, tsk” when I told them my shampoo would whip their hair into shape, knowing I was just trying to ease the situation, believing my genes were just plain superior.

As it is, I am in a constant war with my tweezers; drawing blood on my quest to pull this hair out, root and all, pleading to a higher power this will be the last time I pluck the fertile jerk from the tender epidermal layer that softly covers my esophagus.

The battle is not over until I have purchased a turtle-neck. Scarves don’t count.