Elizabeth Broadbent originally posted this on Scary Mommy.
My husband, Bear, is a furry man. He is particularly furry on his chest, back, and arm regions (in addition to the lumberjack beard and the curly hair that, dammit, I wish he would freaking grow long). It’s grown in more since we got together 13 years ago. Before that, he had chest hair, but not too much — I ridiculed him for it being state-shaped, though I can’t remember which one. Let’s pretend it was Florida.
Anyway, in the intervening years, Florida has dissolved into a chest-wide morass of fur. He calls it his pelt. In reality, it’s not as thick as that would make you think, but still, it’s a substantial amount of hair. Ditto for his lower arms.
And his back, well, when we were in our early 20s, he had a patch or two of hair. Now most of his upper back is covered, including his shoulders. It’s crept, slowly spread. By the time he’s 50, he’ll be an actual bear.
There’s one big problem that comes along with all this fur: The fur has to grow in. His hairs often get confused, and instead of growing up into the light, like a good little hair should, they decide to grow sideways into his skin. These evil little hairs make everything swell. Bacteria accumulates. It creates puss. Soon, Bear’s got a whitehead going. And if it’s on his chest, he can take care of it. But when it comes to his back, he can’t see it, much less kill it.
And I freaking can’t stand it. So I tell him to hold still. I go in with both thumbnails. And I pop the shit out of that sucker.
I started doing this back when we were dating. He had a giant whitehead, which was really yellow (supergross!) on the back of his shoulder. It was staring at me. I swear, it had an eyeball and two hands, and it was going “Nyah, nyah, nyah, you can’t do anything about me!”
“Um, you have a giant zit on your back,” I told him.
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