I Love Plucking White Hairs – A Confession

Posted by D.J. on Jan 26, 2012 | 20 comments

When I was nine my mom brought home a black cat that was hanging out by the dumpster at the Junior League.  It was our first family pet, and we named her Shadow.

Actually, that’s not entirely true as we had two cats when I was born but I think they bit me or my sister and were removed.

Did I mention all the walls of our house were made of those green screens they use in movies? (If that didn't connect with you, screw off. I thought it was funny)

As a cat, Shadow was decent.  Not a home run, but not a caught-looking-strikeout either.  I hope that expression sort of makes sense.  Since then, I’ve owned (yes, owned) three other cats, and they all have totally rocked balls.  Great pets, cats.

The worst thing about Shadow was that she didn’t respond to cat nip.  The best thing about Shadow was that she had about twenty random white hairs scattered about her fur.

I can’t tell you why, but I had to pluck them.  It was pure ecstasy to me.  I used to watch the hairs grow back months later, and I would wait until they were fully ripe, only to then be plucked again.  I’m not exaggerating an iota about how awesome this was.  My mom used to really yell at me for it, because it kind of bothered the cat.

Well, tough titties to that!  I started plucking the hairs in private, bedroom door closed.  I had to engage this addiction.

A few years later Shadow started peeing everywhere in the house and my folks gave her away to a nearby pig farm.  She became an outdoor cat which probably sucked because she didn’t have any claws.  It was very sad time for me.

My white hair pulling addiction did not get to surface again until I met my now ex-wife.  She had a few white hairs along her part line.  I noticed them one day as I was giving her hair the “sniff-test”.

In that moment my eyes glazed over and I suddenly lost all interest in her as a person.  Her head became the most desireable thing on the planet.  But I couldn’t just pluck one white hair without permission!  Could I?

I totally fucking did.

She yelped, and I explained I just had to pluck it.  It’s how I’m wired up.  Ultimately she thought it was great because I was getting rid of white hairs that she didn’t want people to see.  I would watch them grow back and wait for just the right time to harvest the crop.  Every year her head would add about seven to ten new white hairs.  It was like Christmas Day, as if they were a presents from the dead pigment and follicle fairy.

I don’t currently have any white head hairs, so I can’t indulge myself.  I need a partner.

My current girlfriend Jessica happens to also love getting her white hairs yanked.  This could not be more important to me, and I consider it an act of love.

We only see each other every six weeks or so, and during those weekends I spend at least twenty hyperfocused minutes going through each wave of hair on a treasure hunt for white gold.

Lest you think this freakish, it’s probably my only vice.  I can live with myself.

I so totally get this.

Do you have anything obsessively wacky that you do?  Unburden yourself!  This is a place of safety and non-judgement.  Reveal thyself and be set free!

Really, I just want to feel less like a weirdo, so if you have to, make something up.