It's gets messy to share the same experience with my love, yet we come from polar opposites on the topic.
"Look! My arm hair is getting thicker!" Papi said with excitement.
"Do you say these things just to torment me?" I asked my love.
"No! Can't I just talk about things with you? I just want to be able to say things that I think."
I suppose mi esposo has a point.
What's the harm of letting Papi yack about all the things I don't like? I can have an internal eye roll I guess.
Then I think, if Papi's allowed to express joy in man hair, then I should be able to express my dislike, no?
My love started to talk about chest hair and I almost crapped myself right there.
fucking chest hair?!?!?!??!?!
I guess I've managed to deal with all the other issues. I assume I'll take each step of this as it comes.
That doesn't make it any easier. In my mind, I'm just getting over The Great Breast Disappearance and it will be replaced with great gobs of man hair on that smooth silky chest.
One of my blogger friends Rafa, said I was honoring my vows more than anyone. That this is the sanctity of marriage.
I just blew it off as my stubbornness. Give me a challenge and I'll see it through.
I'm worse than a fucking mule.
Hell, I challenged myself for 2 years with brain injury. In the most pigheaded way.
no. i don't accept ANY of this. heal goddamit. ah crap ... thank you brain injury, here I go again getting off topic.
So, the point is, if Papi gets chest hair, I'll have another fucking meltdown and have to get through that as well.
There's so fucking much to deal with after each part of healing that it's like being in the ring with Mike Tyson.
The hits keep coming and coming, and I keep blocking them. I never get in a jab or an upper cut. I'm too busy in blocking hell.
When the bell rings, I get a short reprieve. I can wipe the sweat from my forehead to keep it from stinging the fresh wounds on my skin. I take a gasp of air along side a chug of water, then I'm up again and preparing for the next hit.
How the hell is a lesbian ...
that's me btw ... don't you DARE consider me straight just because my spouse looks like a man.
... going to enjoy a fucking hairy man chest?
The caterpillar moustache is slowly growing on me. Obviously, because everyone notices it and I can't even see the difference.
It was funny when the 95 year old G'ma came home and said, "What's that on your lip?! It looks like a moustache!"
Then it was even more entertaining watching Papi wriggle through the conversation of why my love can't lift anything. "I had chest surgery."
The G'ma panicked, "What?!?! Do you have cancer?!"
"No grandma, nothing major to worry about, but I can't lift anything for a month."
No use explaining though.
G'ma has no memory. We have to go through the same conversation a few times a day.
But at least Papi shaved that shit off the lip so there's no more harassment from the old bird.
Ahhhhhh ... thanx G'ma.