To the naked eye, I look fairly pulled together. Some have even said “attractive,” though those people have never seen me when I realize TiVo’s eaten an episode of “Bridezillas.” And the liquor store is closed.
On the INSIDE, however, there’s a whole lotta weird shit going on, courtesy of my esteemed forebears, whom I’m now realizing could be glimpsed past the Funhouse, behind the candy-apple booth, for one shiny nickel. Behold the evidence:
1) Despite having a head of hair thicker than a dung-caked sheep, I have virtually no body hair. Arms? Dandelions are hairier. Legs? Let’s just say that over the course of one particularly dry spell a few years back, I experimented in putting down the razor. . . and grew a collective SEVEN HAIRS. Over the entire surface of my legs. Over an ENTIRE SUMMER.
Apparently, this can be traced to that teaspoon of swarthy Native American blood I’m rockin’. And in all, I’m gonna call this a freakish perk, as (unlike my cherished firstborn), I’ll never need a waxer on speed-dial. Go ‘Noles!
2) While “Munchausen” may be more fun to say, I can boast a rare and exotic affliction called Von Willebrand’s Disease. In a nutshell, it’s hemophilia for chicks, or: vWD + klutz(me) = Well THAT’S Gonna Bruise! If Michael even inhales too closely to my neck, I’m living the next two weeks with a hickey so white-trash I might as well add a mullet and a baby on each hip. (Oh, wait.)
In short, the fresh blooms of bruises I’m perpetually showcasing? When Michael evidences them to you with, “Hey, it’s not easy to keep a woman in line — am I right?!” he is merely fucking with you.
3) I have low blood pressure. I mean, yay! Whatevs! But I have clinically low blood pressure. Which, on the down side, means something as simple as standing up too fast can result in lightheadedness or a full-on faint.
Up side? I can (and do) eat buckets of salt with zero consequence! (Closes laptop to go inhale a family-size bag of Lay’s.)
4) My uterus is twice the size of yours. Don’t have a uterus, you say? Then my uterus is comparatively Uterzilla, OH GOD THE UTERUS WILL EAT US ALL. . .
5) I sweat way more out of my right pit. (I’d blame this on the ancestors too, but I’m guessing it’s just some sort of vodka overflow valve my body’s been forced to quickly adapt.)
So here’s to you, freak gene evolution! (And thanks for all the fish.)