The Shaving

Currently listening to: "Spectrum" by Florence and the Machine

We are now four days in to November which has, historically, been a consistently shitty month for me. It seems as though every year Life waits to throw the biggest piles of steaming bullshit my way. For example, right now I have a wisdom tooth trying to Shawshank its way out of my mouth and I have to sacrifice two hours of my morning tomorrow to have a dentist confirm that my tooth, in fact, is not performing its singular toothly duty.

Anyway, in the past decade the month of November has gained the ever-annoying reputation as the month where men don't shave their facial hair. Some women have also joined in the activities by not shaving their legs and/or armpits. No Shave November is here. Joy.

I, as a woman, always choose not to participate in the hygiene embargo for the month of November for a few reasons.
A.) Non-shaved legs are itchy as hell and so incredibly uncomfortable. I have woken up in the middle of the night just to shave my legs because they were preventing me from my most favorite activity: sleeping.
B.) I have blonde body hair so it isn't like there is any sort of visible gauge of my commitment to the cause.
C.) I'm not a twat.

If you haven't been able to tell, there are just so many things in this world that I find intolerable. It's not exactly a challenge. There are a multitude of things I enjoy, but they will be forever shadowed by all of the horse shit. No Shave November is like the cherry on top of that chunky pile of animal excrement.

First of all, it's gross. I don't have a personal affinity for facial hair on men. A full beard can be nice to look at, but for all other intents and purposes it is itchy and unbecoming. I have a hard time disassociating men with beards from what I assume all serial murders look like.

Second, my work environment leaves me surrounded by a lot of young men who lack the testosterone levels necessary to grow a beard that isn't reminiscent of a 70 year old burlap sack. Patches are for quilts and pirates.

Third, there are no words to express how much I fucking loathe slacktivism. Any activity, or lack of activity, that gains notoriety through inane acts published on social media challenges (ex: dumping a bucket of ice water on oneself or putting a pink ribbon as your profile picture) is a constant reminder that humanity is beyond redemption. No Shave November began as an awareness cause for testicular and prostate cancer. Clearly, when I think about beards I also think about balls and butts. I could literally write a dissertation length document on my festering hatred of social media backed causes, but I don't want to break the internet. No Shave November is now used as a means for men to wave their metaphorical and literal dicks in the wind about their dedication to not shaving their face. Tough stuff.

Fourth, when the month finally comes to a close there are pubey looking hairs EVERYWHERE. Sinks, bathroom floors, pillow cases, window ledges, seemingly any and every stable surface. Furthermore, I can't help but feel that every rejected beard hair is far too similar in resemblance to a hair that grew from a nut follicle, instead of a chin.

Fifth, adding the other half of the population in to the scratchy madness just provides me with more people I have to develop thorough disdain for. Women, there is a 99% chance that you don't have a prostate or testicles. Therefore, not shaving your legs or armpits just makes you somewhat unpleasant to have sex with (an assumption on my part I suppose) and nothing else. Also, smooth legs on fresh sheets in probably the single most ethereal feeling aside from playing with a puppy. Why would you willingly deprive yourself of that? You know who else had hairy legs? Hitler.

Sixth, there is now a 100% chance I am going to find a beard hair in my food because No Shave November participation is practically a national requirement and beard nets look ridiculous.

So darlings, please stop making November so awful for me.