Side Pube


Throughout our lives, the elders prepare us:

"Just wait until you get old!"

Slowly it begins, weird beige-brown discs appear on our skin, but they're small and discrete.. and they make cream for that.. so it's okay. Then tiny, strange sculptures begin to erupt here and there. The doctor calls them "skin tags" and is almost a little too eager to take them off with her mini hedge clippers.

She even gets that crazed "Edward Scissorhands" look on her face while she's clipping away. It's a little scary.

We're ready for the occasional wrinkle and soon develop a relationship with friends named "Miss Clairol" and "Feria."

No one, however, could prepare me for the discovery I made on a cold Carolina morning as I sat upon the throne of the potty palace, preparing for work. Absentmindedly reaching back to scratch a tickle.. I felt something strange on my skin.. something foreign.. but when I tried to remove it, I realized it was attached.

To me.

What the hell?

I twisted upon my perch, inspecting the area of skin somewhere between my side boob and my hip roll and was horrified to discover a singular coarse, black hair, about six inches in length, growing from my side. It reminded me of the 1986 remake of "The Fly" when those little black hairs start popping out on his back. I tried, in vain, to rip it from me, but it broke off, curling up like a package ribbon, taking on the appearance of.. a pubic hair.

I think there was some screaming and a certain Chihuahuaranian nearly met his maker as I flew through the house in search of the "good" tweezers.

I plucked it out by the roots, breathed a sigh of relief and calmed down, knowing the story would excite The Amazon. I thought my trauma was over.

But no.

It came back. It comes back every time. Just the one hair that if left alone would probably grow forever. We even named it...

The Side Pube.

So tell your girl children, when you share stories of wrinkle cream, age spot remover and skin tags that it could be worse, they could sprout a side pube.

And explain to them about the need for some good tweezers.

It's Friday ya'll, let us rejoice by running barefoot through the rainy Southern streets and singing Barry Manilow tunes at the top of our lungs.

We'll talk again soon, hopefully I'll have some news to share tomorrow. Oh and don't forget, you can now have your Hidden Mahala fix delivered straight to your Kindle! Tell your friends! Notify the media! Or not! It's okay, I'll still love ya.

Later Taters!