Effing Weird About The Beard
The worst part of having PCOS is not the lurking relatives, bantering over your head about their expectation of carrying a 10-pounder life in my uterus … no, it’s not that. It’s the effing “beard”. The struggle is real people. I get it. I feel you “Men”. I feel you!
Plucking The Strands
Imagine, waking up every freaking morning to pluck those strands from all over your face? And they don’t even grow as beautifully and systematically as they do on the men. If they did, I wouldn’t mind keeping the strands.
Man, I would rock it… in fact, there would be two-morning routines that my hubby and I could have shared – one dental flossing and shaving looking at the mirror. But sadly, I don’t grow longer strands to use a razor, hence the tweezer!
PCOS – polycystic ovary syndrome? No, more like Please Cut Out the Shit syndrome. If you have to mess up my hormones then do it quietly Nah, why make a show out of my face, hands, legs, tummy?
PCOS is like an effing magnet that sucks out of my morning. Because man I wake up like a …. MAN!!!
Give me a month without my tweezers and you’ll find no difference between the wife and the husband for sure. Sometimes I feel evolution could have taken place without any changes to our original appearance. Then who’d care about being a bushman… and I mean literally … a BUSHMAN!
The hormones have lost the plot in my life because hair that needs to belong is in the area that’s so wrong. Well, hormone buddies stick to the damn head – forehead – back of my head. Why spread yourself so thin?
Apple To My Pound
Well, I have no problems with the additional pounds. But they keep getting added even if I binge on an apple . an APPLE!
So, the struggle is damn real. I can feel it in every part of my body, mind (and soul?) Well, not soul because I have surrounded myself with positive, happy people. Who gives a damn about my chin-strands 😛