THE MOTHER OF THE MUNCHKINS

Last updated: July 17. 2014 7:47PM - 145 Views
Bethany J. Royer



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“Accept your past without regret, handle your present with confidence, and face your future without fear.” ~Unknown and apparently hairless


Michael pointed out a swollen red bump at the top of my bare foot, something I had noted for at least a half hour given how itchy it was but for the most part ignoring it. We were busy tackling a project I had seen on Pinterest (Curse the social media gods!) and since I am not often inspired to do anything crafty these days I was adamant about seeing to completion a backyard bench made from cinder-blocks.


I know what you are thinking but no, really, it turned out very nice and the neighbors have made multiple compliments so not all Pinterest projects are tacky fails. It is my being barefoot while working with cinder-blocks that should draw one’s attention.


Anyway, upon the observation of one BFX, I gave the bump a closer look or tried, as my eyes are not what they used to be and I hadn’t my glasses. However, I could see a mystery sliver of something protruding from the center.


“I think I was stung,” I said while running a finger over the bump, trying to determine what in the world would have stung me without my having noticed. Thinking back to a wasp sting on the shoulder and jumping spider laying into a toe. Ouch! I had felt those bites, so how could I have been stung on the top of my foot and not notice? Then it dawned on me and, of course, Michael being ever the outspoken individual that he is said out loud, for all my neighbors and eventual bruised ego to hear, that it was an ingrown hair.


Of course! Who else would be blessed with such hairy shenanigans but yours truly?


Now, understand, I have tried on a number of occasions to make peace with my lot in life. One that has left much to be desired and still lacking the proverbial picket fence. (I’ve no doubt it is ablaze somewhere in the back forty) Speaking of 40, turning the big 4-0 this year has not made this lot acceptance any easier but this … this … am I a woman or a Sasquatch?


I’ve tried to find comfort in regards to being a member of the Big Foot clan with the prospect that someday I may have enough pennies to rub together so as to afford permanent hair removal. By that time there should be something available — akin to the Star Trek universe — that will beam all the unwanted hair where no one has gone before and wouldn’t want to anyway. Every last unwanted hair sent packing, even the singular one sprouting off the top of my left foot and, ahem, the few off the top of my toes. I say this in memory of a friend who felt it was her duty, a Public Service Announcement, if you will, to remind all her female friends to shave their toes during sandal season. We wouldn’t want to offend the masses while flip-flopping about the office with our outrageously hairy toes, right?


Course, what is always humorous is these same well-meaning individuals are under the impression this unfortunate hairy-reality somehow escapes those of us overly blessed (IE. plagued) by it. That we don’t know we could out-hair Cousin It or we beg the Universe to please, please, give me hairy feet.


The good news, even under the onslaught of unwanted PSAs and an unlikely future with transporters to beam away unwanted hair I have found peace. Peace in the fact that should the world ever fall to an endless winter I — and the many others out there like me, as the endless store aisles devoted to hair removal products proves — will survive. All thanks to the wonderful world of genetics.


We will survive and those hairless apes out there with their PSAs, sorry about your luck.


Bethany J. Royer is the mother of two munchkins and has a serious case of psychology student senior-it is. She can be reached at bethanyroyer@yahoo.com


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