Fear The Wookie

When I was little, my parents would tell me the tale of the Mad Chipmunk of Lovells.  It was an angry rodent that lived at the edge of my parent’s property and apparently it would chew your fucking face off it you ventured too far away from the house.  They probably should have just been honest with me and told me about the bears or wild cats or any of the other actual man eating creatures that live in the woods.  Honestly though, the chipmunk really did the trick and to this day the little fuckers creep me out.  There were a bunch of bears living around our house and we even had one that would hibernate under a neighbor’s trampoline.  That trampoline was so fucking awesome. It wasn’t like today’s trampolines. This one was built into the ground, surrounded by a concrete border with big metal springs holding the trampoline over a giant hole (That’s where the bear lived) and I’m honestly surprised that any of us kids survived playing on that thing but it doesn’t really matter because it was that awesome.   

I was thinking about that damned chipmunk in the shower this morning.  I had just dyed my hair and I was rinsing out the holy-crap-black I apparently bought.  It was on sale and I had a coupon.  Sometimes we have to live with these choices.  The manufacturers of hair dye really need to take into consideration that some people have really long dry hair that soaks up most of the tiny bottle of dye on just a very small portion of hair.  I am now sporting a 3 toned style of Goth black, kind of red, and gray. 

Anyway, anytime I get in the shower or brush my hair or get pissed off at the kids; a ton of fucking hair falls out of my skull.  It is really fucking amazing how much hair I lose in one day and still I am able to maintain a full head of hair.  I do fear that my days are numbered though especially since one of my nervous habits is pulling out individual stands of hair with I deem to be “crunchy” and thus unworthy to reside on my scalp. 

I like to leave little surprises around the house for my husband.  One of those gems is the shower wookie.  

As my gift to Mike today, I pulled the shower wookie out and left it in the bottom of the tub. 

All women know what the shower wookie is and all men fear the shower wookie.  Mike even went down to the hardware store and bought a special shower wookie extraction tool.  He doesn’t hunt deer or bears or gators, but damn if he isn’t proud when he hunts down and kills a shower wookie.  He likes to show off the shower wookie to me as if I don’t know that I am capable of producing such a hideous creature.  I am fully aware of it.  I am also totally grossed out by my own hair once it leaves my head.  Mike is grossed out by it too but in a completely fascinated way.  He will call the entire family into the bathroom so we can view the fresh kill. Now that I think about it, maybe the shower wookie contributed to the fail of our septic system.  It is that fucking evil looking. 

Mike would probably like if I ended things here, but I have to tell you about his fucking gross ass hair too.  Not his ass hair literally.  I don’t think I ever want to go there.  We will leave his mangina out of this.  I finally got him to shave the dead squirrel that has been eating all of his food off his face.  He loves to MANipulate his facial hair and by that, I mean; he likes to shave weird shapes into his face and he thinks it’s sexy.  Let me tell you something:  THERE IS NOTHING SEXY ABOUT A DEAD SQUIRREL ON YOUR FACE!  Once anyone begins to grow facial hair I can assume one of three things:  

1.        You are a depressed ass hat

2.        You are a fucking ass hat bent on taking out revenge

3.        You are a fucking lazy ass hat

Mike will go for weeks, even months without shaving, usually just to piss me off.  He’ll say he’s going to shave and then create chops or a goatee.  My friend Jenny has a special name for a goatee.  She calls it Prison Pussy.   Then, as if the facial hair isn’t enough, when he does shave it off, he leaves me this mess around the sink.

                                    Mother Fucker.  That’s dove soap, bitch. 

At least the shower wookie clings together with its peeps in some kind of cult like solidarity.  Mikes fucking facial hair likes to divide and conquer making it impossible to clean up.