"My dad got mad at me today for not returning his phone call."
"Does your dad have a beard? Because some women do."
"I've never been to Disneyworld."
"Well when I went to Disneyworld I saw a bearded woman."
"It is such a beautiful day!"
"That is EXACTLY the type of thing a bearded woman would say."
It was only a couple years ago that this fascination started. So many questions were arising in my mind...
Who was the first bearded woman?
Why don't we have a national holiday for her?
Would I ever grow a beard?
How many bearded women are there in the world?
Are there more than we think, but a lot of them shave so we don't know?
What man would marry a bearded woman?
Would that make him secretly gay?
What would it feel like to shave?
So...being the curious cat that I am, I decided to walk into my father's bathroom and use his electric razor.
...Or at least what I thought was his electric razor.
So I'm shaving away. Here, there, everywhere. I must admit I was thoroughly enjoying the "zzzzz" sound, smiling away as I hit up every part of my face. Left cheek, right cheek, chin, forehead (making sure to stay clear of my eyebrows. I am fond of my eyebrows, I'd like to keep them.), even my upper lip. (not my actual lip, that area above your lip and below your nose...don't know what that's called. I've always referred to it as the "mustache area" but that implies I have a mustache, which I don't. Which leads me to even more questions):
If there are bearded women, are there solely mustache women?
Soul patch women?
1970's sideburns women?
The point is, that thing was all over my face. Near my lips, my mouth, LIPS. MOUTH. Did you catch that? The areas used for eating, kissing, covering in Burt's Bees, those areas. As I'm shaving away, having a jolly ol' time and humming to myself songs of pure happiness, I see my dad's electric razor sitting on the sink, the one I usually see him use.
That was my first thought.
That was my second thought.
That was my third thought.
The label on the side of the razor I just smeared all over my face, the label I did not care to read until I had put that razor ALL OVER MY FACE, read a little something like this:
BODY HAIR TRIMMER
Are you confused? Bewildered? Baffled? Are you thinking, "No...it can't be..." Well guess what buddy. IT CAN. I, Natasha Ferrier, had just rubbed my father's pubic hair "trimmer" all over my fucking face. The same device my father uses to trim his pubes was above, and below, my lips. Are you disturbed? Disgusted? Imagining pubic hair? You sicko. And, if you think "Body Hair Trimmer" doesn't necessarily have to mean crotch pubes, you're mistaken. How do I know this? Because after freaking out, which went like this:
(Picture Macauley Culkin in Home Alone 2.)
I then ran downstairs and told my stepmom what I had just done. After laughter, since, sure, if it's not you whose dad's pube razor was all over your face, then it's pretty funny, she told me that, yes, the razor is what I thought it was for. What my life? FUCK MY LIFE.
Was/am obsessed with beards.
But only on women.
Women with beards.
Shaved my face.
Dad's NOT razor.
Dad's pubic hair trimmer.
On my face.
For quite awhile.
Kids, don't try this at home.