Like most everyone else, my supplemental hair began in the pubic region. As I approached my middle teen years I developed chest hair and facial hair. I experienced the "cool, I'm growing up" phenomenon. I can't recall experiencing shame for these traits.

Well, as fate would have it, my Dark Lord, Testosterone was not through with me yet. I began to develop some hair on my shoulders and back. This was the first time I remember feeling distanced from my peers. of these things is not like the other...

My general hairiness, my above average height, and my proclivity for going barefoot to my college classes earned me the moniker, "Sasquatch", and with somewhat lesser frequency, "Bear." Fortunately, any possible negative connotations my brain could have summoned regarding this nickname were quashed by my friends' assurances that I was a most wonderful sasquatch and without peer. I was, indeed, their favorite sasquatch. I felt warm, accepted, and furry. Innocence never lasts.

One fateful Sunday morning, I sat down to enjoy a double feature of kung-fu hijinks and giant-rubber-monster mayhem. Returning to the tube early during a commercial break, I saw a cosmetic goddess announcing items from her "turn offs" list.

"...people who are mean to puppies, Jew-killing Nazi bastards, baby rapers...and hairy shoulders..."

Slow motion plate tumbles from a numbed hand. Two slices of cheese toast BOTH manage to land wrong side up. Coca-Cola jettisons from nostrils in a tribute to Gojira's rage.

Did that uppity bitch just say what I think she said?!?!?!
Okay, Okay. My remembrance of her quote might be significantly affected by hyperbole. But the hairy shoulders bit was real. It was in there.

Now, I realize the woman was just reading from a script and if I ran into her today, I would probably not go all Rorschach on her ass.

I had been force fed from the tree of media wisdom and had a base animal urge to scrabble for fig leaves to cover my embarrassment.