Bibsey

Were you wondering how long I could go without mentioning my broken arm? Wonder no more. What follows is the next riveting episode in El Drama del Brazo.

I may have mentioned before that I am neither blessed nor cursed in the body hair department. All other body issues aside, I am not, for example, one of those women that can jump into a bikini and pop down to the beach without notice or a tussle with razor and tweezers. But neither am I reaching for the wax strips of torture or rushing for lazer treaments any day in my lifetime, ever.

I did try electrolysis once in my early thirties. This was when I still thought that beauty was something that could be purchased and was more important than things like cake. Can you imagine? Anyway, I think the lady managed to divest me of about three pubes before I disarmed her, urban guerrilla style,  and ran yelping for the safety of the hills of Stoke Newington. Never a-f***ing-gain.

That little digression into my beautiful youth aside, can you imagine my joy when recently I inspected my new elbow (post-fracture and post-operation) to find that I am now growing there long, dark and glossy hair? Go ahead. Imagine!

There has only ever been one Blofeld for me: Donald Pleasance.

My dear dear friend @ScreenFingers (who I will definitely be remembering in my will after this) pointed out that it’s like having my own personal Mr Bigglesworth. Yes, during the long winter evenings I sit, Blofeld-esque, on the sofa stroking my silky elbow and planning my next evil genius plan to hold blogland to ransom for one million dollars using only a giant electrolysis probe.

And back in the real world I can’t possibly entertain any kind of hair removal on such a sensitive area. I haven’t spent the last two months lavishing love and sweet almond oil on my scarred elbow only to attack it now with lasers, or razors or hair removal products. No!

Erm, EPIPHANY! Perhaps it is the sweet almond oil and all the tender loving care that has caused the extra and unwanted elbow hair.

Or, more likely, the fact that I haven’t been able to do much leaning on my elbow since my accident. I loll about on the other elbow all the time and there is no hair there. And now I come to think about it, I sit on my arse most of the livelong day and I got no…

That’s enough! Any theories on elbow hair or suggested elbow hairstyles would be most welcome.

I am off to stroke my elbow. In the meantime I leave you with Duran Duran’s far superior, though no less hairy, Hungry Like the Wolf. I do this in the hope that the song will forever trigger thoughts in your minds of my freaky elbow. Ha!