One Thing More Embarrassing than the Other

Okay.  Here it is.  The embarrassing thing that breaks the ice for the more embarrassing thing.

You know that moment before the BIG moment and the breathing is all "haw, haw, haw, ha, ah, ah" and next should come the "AHAHA!" I have this terrible tendency to hold my breath, right at that second.  That, in itself, is not the embarrassing part.

No, the embarrassing part is that, then, in attempting to do two things at once right after this brief pause–catch my breath at the same time I need to let out a big "AHHAAHAA!"–I sometimes choke.  And not in a cute, "wow, you’re so great I almost died" way, but in this way that I end up making this noise like if a zombie goose and a hissing cat had a pissed off baby.

So, imagine, if you will.  I’m laying beneath you.  I’ve got my legs wrapped around your back.  I’m holding onto the headboard for dear life.  "Oh, god, yes.  ha, yes, ah, yes, god, yes, ah, ah, yes, ah… *glacpcklraaprlch*"

There is no graceful way to recover from that.  None.  I would be better off to just spontaneously burst into Bible verses right at that moment or to suddenly turn into Tucker Carlson. 

It doesn’t happen all the time, but enough.  My only hope is to find a partner who finds the occasional sound of zombie geese to be amusing. 

Okay, so here’s the thing that has me mortified.

I have this occasional chin whisker.  Which is bad enough.  I’m constantly on chin whisker vigilance and the moment I can feel it, I pluck it out.  Who wants a big black whisker growing from her chin?  If there were thousands, I could get some side show work, but just one?

Anyway, all week, I’ve felt the chin whisker, but I couldn’t see it to pluck it out.  And it was driving me crazy.  Finally, this morning, I could feel that it was pretty long.  So, I’m searching in the mirror and I don’t see anything at all, but by now I’ve had it.  I have to see folks today and I can’t be going out in public with a great big long black chin hair.

So, I got a hold of it with the tweezers and yanked it out.

And, dear reader, do you know why I couldn’t see it?

Because it was gray.

I shit you not.  I’m not even thirty-two yet and not only do I have a chin whisker, it’s gray.

I swear to god, I’ve long suspected that I’m slowly turning  into a sasquatch, but between the chin hair and the mating call of doom, I’m not going to fight it any more.  I’m just going to give over to my inherent sasquatchian nature and run around naked in the hills of Tennessee and slowly give way to some rural legend.


16 thoughts on “One Thing More Embarrassing than the Other

  1. Wow, I don’t recall Sarcastro having any gray hair. Does that mean you are older than him?If you’re going to turn all white, I think officially, you’d be a Yeti.

  2. Boy Scout, I have to tell you, there’s a good reason for why Sarcastro doesn’t have any gray hair and why I will never be older than him. can only hope to grow more distinguished than him. I think I’m well on my way to this goal.Hmm. I think being a yeti in the hills of Tennessee is going to be a problem. If I’m brown or calico, I can blend in, but white? Hunters are going to be shooting at me every chance they get.

  3. I can’t help ya on the Zombie Goose front, but welcome to Whiskertown, population: Us. Those freakish little bristles (black or colorless) have a name, you know. "Carny hairs."

  4. OK, the zombie goose had me shooting seltzer out my nose. I’ll meet you at Barnum and Bailey.

  5. I have one, too, and forget to check sometimes. Later I will catch my profile and literally gasp. What horrible person thought of adding this to the list of shit we already have to put up with? As IF there wasn’t enough?

  6. I’ve been fighting the chin whisker for a few years now. And FYI, plucking one led to 2. Mine, however, have not gone grey. That would be half of the hair on my head – which is now streaked blonde ($115 per cut and color) to hide the shame of being 31 and grey.

  7. Carny hairs? I don’t know why but that kind of tickles me.Elizabeth, I’m going gray, too. I keep thinking I should just give in and start coloring it, but they’re silver and I kind of think they’re pretty.Knuck, you’re not the only one who can fuck news personalities.

  8. Alright, somebody has to come up with an illustration of a zombie goose carny for B. I’m thinking said cartoon goose must have dirty jeans, cigarette in need of ashing, and, of course, the flesh and stare of the undead.

  9. I don’t know what color your hair is, but if it’s black or dark brunette and you have grey growing in it, you might be able to pull off the Emmy Lou Harris silver fox look. That would be sexy.And on another note, if the guy’s getting close, it doesn’t really matter if you sound like a zombie goose.

  10. Oh Aunt B! I love it when you aren’t afraid to share things that might be "embarrassing." I like your line about "not in a cute ‘wow, you’re so great I almost died’ way…" One time, after a particularly exhausting romp, I somehow found myself telling my boyfriend "No no, that was wonderful, it was just so intense that I feel like I’m gonna cry, throw-up, or die…" Isn’t that what every man wants to hear? At least he can laugh about it now.

  11. Oh, I’ve had the "I think I’m going to throw up" thing, too. What is with that?Ha. This is exactly why I have to blog under a pseudonym. If I used my real name, when people met me, they’d totally be like "Don’t fuck that girl. She’ll be all *glacpcklraaprlch* on you and then she’ll have to lay on the floor and try to decide if she’s going to barf or not."Attractive! Think of the boobs, folks, just think of the boobs. Don’t think about the hairy, noisy mess that comes with them. Dwell on the boob freckle. Woo! Boob freckle. I am hypnotizing you with the power of my boob freckle.Fucking Aunt B. is fun. Aunt B. is not the strangest least-appropriate person on the internet. You should foster a secret crush on Aunt B. Aunt B. is the most attractive woman in the universe. You want to buy Aunt B. a beer or two. You will not complain when this makes her have to pee repeatedly. You will find that charming. Those of you considering inviting her out for cigars and booze finally will. Woo. Boob freckle, work your power.

  12. My college roomate dated a guy for a while that was a screamer. No, let me rephrase that, he was a SCREAMER! The first time I thought, "murder, mayhem, call the police, he’s killed her!" Turned out it was him not her. I could kind of get used to it after a while, but there was no way you could carry on a phone conversation in the apartment while they were in the bedroom. Thank god they weren’t morning people.

  13. He was a screamer? You would think years of masturbating while trying not to get caught would have made him learm how to muffle himself.

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