A Very Hairy Experience

February 7, 2018 2:26pm Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 30 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

The lady in the post office has a beard and a tash.

Just let me run that by you again.

The lady in the post office has a beard and a tash.

Now I know it doesn’t matter what people look like because looks are transient. I’m a big advocate of this and can prove it by showing you some of the troglodytes I’ve dated in my time. What is important is a person’s mind, heart, and soul.


You Can’t Do Comedy With A Beard

When confronted with a female and her beard it really does test your character. Quite obviously, my character is severely flawed. Far worse than I first thought.

My initial reaction, aside from trying not to stare, was to subconsciously run my hand over my chin. Recognising, a few seconds in, that this was the most stupidly obvious thing I could have done, I began to make over the top full face rubs whilst pulling a quizzical look as if to suggest I might have some sort of dermatological issue and WAS NOT thinking about her beard.

At the very same time, I am being filled with shame and embarrassment at my behaviour which, let me tell you, always renders me imbecilic. I already know at this point that everything is going to go tits up.

I tried to calm myself and stared intently into her eyes like some sort of demonic fruitcake as she asked how she could help me.

Oh dear Lord, where do I start?

I thoroughly hated eBay in the first place but now I’m silently scorning it inside my head because I have 17 parcels of this exchange to get through before I leave.

I placed my first parcel on the weighing machine and felt the beads of perspiration tickle my upper lip from my guilt-ridden hot flush. No. Please no. It tickled insanely but if I go to rub it she will think I’m doing sign language for “Nice tash.”

She asks me for a second time where the parcel is going.

“Australia,” I manage at the same time my eye muscles start to act involuntarily and drift to the long and wavy hairs on her chinny-chin-chin and I marvel at how they dance as she talks.

Damn, she’s talking! What the hell is wrong with me?


“Hairmail?” she asks.

No. I didn’t mishear her. I promise. She absolutely said that.

I squirm, nervously on the spot and look into her deep-set eyes. I notice the monobrow. I hate myself. This is secondary to the tash and beard, but still. She may have more of an issue with that, for all I know.

“Yes, H…h…airmail is great.”

As I placed the second parcel on the machine I noticed how hairy her fingers were.

I am being served by a werewolf.

Bard Of Beard

Being ever the storyteller I couldn’t  help but invent some tale in my head about this woman. I mean, there’s gotta be one hell of a story behind a lady who stands in the post office publicly serving the people of this working-class town where they call a spade a spade. That can’t be easy.

I fiddled with my iPhone as she stuck labels to my packages and imagined her being the secret flesh-eating demon of the town, and for every kill she makes she grows another hair on her face. I wonder if I could surreptitiously take a sneak pic of her as I wait, to show my pal at the pub later and then berate myself for even considering this atrocious notion. I make deals with God in my head and vow to be a better person.

Perhaps I could interview her? I think. I’ve interviewed lots of people before and maybe her story will release inner turmoil and bleed the hardened hearts of the piss takers. I could call the article “In the Hirsute of Happiness”

“Where to?! She snaps me out of my reverie.

“Oh, sorry. That one first class to hair..to Ha…to Hereford. All of a sudden I am talking like some tosser from “Made In Chelsea.”

I need help. I should be banished from the area. Forever. I deserve it.

In an attempt to control myself I decided to look to the right and focus on some of the shop’s merchandise. My eyes fell instantly on the special, BOGOF tins of WHISKERS cat food.

ARRRRGH! Somebody make it stop!

I am totally cursed.

Talking of curses…

Don’t Take The Coat Off Another Man’s Back

One of my eBay packages was a coat I sold that didn’t belong to me. In all fairness, I didn’t actually steal it.

At the beginning of spring last year I took my winter coats to the dry cleaners. I picked them up a few days later all covered in polythene and shoved them into my wardrobe. When winter arrived in late October, I took them out and unwrapped them only to find I was in the possession of an extra coat that didn’t belong to me. Oops. Well, it wasn’t my fault, it was theirs!

I rang the dry cleaner and told them. They didn’t care and said the person would since have been compensated and I should have told them at the time. I object to that kind of remark and will never use that dry cleaners again. The least they could have done is gifted me with a decent coat and not the one I had which, whilst it was a nice wool blended overcoat, would be better suited to a funeral director.

So, I decided to flog it. On eBay. For the measly sum of £8.00 plus package and posting. Lizzie Dripping purchased it and I sent it off thinking that for once, Karma had smiled on me.

Two days later I get an angry message in my eBay inbox.

“This is a man’s coat and not a woman’s. I wish to return it.”

Personally, I couldn’t tell if it was for a male or female as I studied my pictorial entry in the sold section.

“Well, it’s a size 8,” I replied. “I don’t know many males of that size myself – not one that you’d call a man, anyway. However, I’ve fully refunded you via PayPal. Sorry for your dreadful inconvenience.”

I left it at that. Thanks, Karma. I’m now out of pocket on a bloody coat that wasn’t even mine. That’ll teach me.

A couple of days later I received a message from her saying that she wanted to send it back. Why?

I told her to keep it. A gift from me. Wear it for gardening or give it a friend. Donate it to charity, whatevs.

“I’ll send it back to your local post office,” she threatened.

“NO! NOOOO.. Please no!”

Phew. That was a close shave. Anyone want a coat?


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Here in the US, gender flexibility and self-identification is the name of the game. You can be any one of at least 31 genders (and you can change mid-day if you’re tired of what you were when you woke up and took a shower). So the postmistress might have been a man the day before? The vestigial beard took time to fall out as she became a woman again and things settled down. You’ve fallen into the trap of gender ambiguity. The problem of ‘what race are you really’ was solved in the same way as gender in the politically correct portion of the nation-across-the-waves. You can gender self-identify. Thus, if you are tired of being a Chinese man in the morning, you can be a black woman by supper – but will you tire of egg rolls? I can’t even guess. It’s all VERY politically correct – completely trendy.

But that doesn’t solve the problem of the e-bay coat buyer down under.

Yeah, but, do you want a coat? 😉

Today, I am a clown. That should put a stop to all this nonsense, hey LL?! 🙂

Throw a custard pie in the face of the first two people you meet, and tell them not to be offended – it’s a form of absolution. If they still object, offer them a free coat.

Hahahahahaha! LIKE!

Ha ha…..I am in fits of laughter,it must have a very Hair-raising experience (excuse the pun)…Kinda reminds me of falling apart with the lady that had her brains on the outside of her head!!!!

Almost as bad as, but not quite, the”Billy Don’t Be A Hero” episode. And others that spring to mind. It’s an interesting cocktail of events, this ole life thing. 🙂

LL makes a very good point, America’s bicoastal zones are drowning in gender fluids. In fact, nowhere is safe.

Don’t ebay your Chanel!

I’m too confused to be arsed to get my head around it. I’m sticking to the Hairy Bikers. They know who they are and can at least knock up a decent shepherds pie. I prefer my life to be simple as God intended. On that subject, can you please have a word with Him upstairs, Parson, and pray heavily for my forgiveness? I don’t want to wake up with a tash for being discompassionate!

LSP, have you gone entirely mad? As if I’d let eBayers have such a thing! How vulgar! 🙂

Jules, I am in hysterics. I don’t know what to say. Just don’t go there to buy any razors although they probably don’t sell them!

I’m not, Jane. I’m in agonising shame. And now I’ve got to find a new post office. One where the postmaster looks like Postman Pat and the only hairy thing I have to worry about is his black and white cat! 🙂

Too funny thanks for adding a lift to my week!

Anytime, Uriel. And thank you 🙂

It’s good that you are concerned about how you treat others, but with respect, I think this particular angst is misplaced. If you stare at e.g. a person whose face is disfigured (say having been badly burned) that’s rude. However, being excessively hairy is something that can easily be changed if the person wants to do so. I am quite sure that this Postal Lycanthrope is aware of an amazing invention known as the razor. She may even have heard of depilatory cream. These items are not financially outside the reach of normal people in the UK or the US. Ergo, Mx. (we use gender-free titles here) PL has CHOSEN to remain hairy in the face. I do not see how this is different from a person wearing outre makeup. If you put on, say, “Ziggy Stardust” makeup and wander about, then you can reasonably expect to be stared at.

Hmm. You should put on your clown nose, go shopping or something, then act all offended if people laugh or look at you funny.

Mike! I like your train of thought. Very intelligent and thought through. This is, in fact, a choice of hers. And not a good one. Next time I will go in my clown nose and see how she responds. This could be an interesting experiment and I thank you for your wisdom. 🙂

I feel your pain.
I know a lovely lady who unfortunately has a bit of a tash.
Whenever we talk, my eyes are drawn inexorably to it.
It’s the same when someone has a wonky eye… I always make eye contact with the wrong one. Can’t help it.

I think sunglasses or mirrored glasses are the only options. And, with mirrored lenses, they get to see how everyone else is feeling. Thanks to LL above, I have some mirrored glasses that give you the option of seeing what’s going on behind you too. However, this often causes me to dilly-dally because I’m forever possessed about whats going on at my rear. So to speak. 🙂

Jules, that was too funny. “Hairmail”… bwhahahahhaha

Was there a full moon in the making? Maybe she was transitioning to a werewolf a bit ahead of schedule… or, is she a Muslima? On the other hand, maybe she is related to Michelle Obama who is reported to be part Sasquatch. Don’t judge.

More research is required. 🙂

Now you mention it, Nox, there’s been a supermoon recently…

To be honest, I don’t delve into peoples traits this deeply because I’m a simple chickadee. I will say that this lady has way more confidence than me and clearly does not care to fit in with societies expectations and doesn’t give a toss! Total respect for that because I would be shamelessly threading like cotton was going out of fashion! 🙂

The weighing machine? Do you mean a scale?

When I lived in Manhattan, Coney Island’s Bearded Lady lived in our neighborhood. She was very nice an unassuming. Didn’t seem bothered by it at all. She never shaved. She needed it for her career.

I bought a leather coat once and was perplexed that the zipping device was on the LEFT instead of the RIGHT. Yes, that’s a lady’s coat. I know that now. But some clothing is to androgynous that there’s hardly any difference.

I have no idea why I didn’t say scale, M. Sometimes I wonder about myself. Often, in fact.

I don’t know how I feel about using a beard for a career as that is encouraging mockery and the circus freak mentality. I kind of hate myself for being so uncomfortable in the post office situation as I really do think too much emphasis is put on appearance which causes insecurities. That is shallow and dreadful. And yet I fall victim to it as do most of us. However, I’m still not happy with the female beard. I don’t know what that means so let’s move onto coats before my shame sets in again..

Who bloody cares what side the zip is on? I didn’t even know that was a thing! I clearly have a lot to learn. 🙂

Hmmm…A taste of the furry cup, eh my sweet?

Don’t put me off Tacos. This is why Blondie bleached her hair. New world Betty Blue anxiety-ridden behaviour.

On the subject of normal Tacos, they break ANYWAY. Soon as you start filling ’em up with all the gubbins it’s a train wreck on a plate! *)

Cakes Pmsl…..I had to go to the same place the other day I breathed a sigh of relief must have been her day off!!! She was probably out looking for a new coat…there’s loads on EBay ..x

I am NOT ever going in here with you. No. It will be like the thin house all over again!

I’m waiting for said coat to arrive and then I’m going to set fire to it. BURN THE CURSE! 🙂

Haha! I would have voluntereed to relieve you of the coat but we don’t really need coats here in KSA. Sure it gets cold, but hardly coat-worthy cold. Hope the winter isn’t dragging on for too long 🙂

Hold on, just let me peel the ice from my lashes and prize my eyes open so I can read this, Az…

*Blinks furiously* OK! Winter you say? BLOODY SICK OF IT. As you know, in England it can be every type of weather in one hour. Today I have experienced violent gusts with sleet flurries, rain and occasional outbreaks of sunshine.

You are far too pretty to wear that particular coat so even if you were cold, I’d deny you. Instead, I’d send you a “rockin’ it about London town”, get up 😉

I haven’t heard a single rant against body warmers this winter. Did you succumb and purchase one for yourself (possibly one with a Union Jack on it)?)

How very dare you suggest such a thing, Larry! Even if it was blazoned with the Union Jack and hand sewn by the Chanel team themselves as a one-off winter exclusive piece for yours truly, I would scoff at such a thing. I will not wear a coat without sleeves! ;P

I’ll bet you’d accept one from the Queen in honour of your service to the nation – a body warmer – with the Union Jack and the queen’s picture hand crocheted by HM herself on the back. You’d wear it until you got into the Land Rover, then you’d toss it in the back. BUT to the point, you would show up at Kensington Palace for high tea with her majesty if for no reason other than to offer the monarch a bit of advice with a wink and a nod. And we know that the Queen would take your advice and would put on her emergency clown nose whenever things got tough in the castle – like when the young princeling brought home a mixed race lady to blend into the royal gene pool.

Oh, I would LOVE to get the Queen wearing a red clown nose! Hahahahaha! Goal…

I still wouldn’t wear her bodywarmer though. I’d flog it on eBay and buy a Vantage 😉

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