How To Piss Your Friend Off

After the dismal week this week has proven to be, I decided to cut myself some slack and abandon ship.

I'm handing over the parental reigns to the first adult who knocks on my door, whether it be a stranger, my sister, or my husband and I'm fleeing the province.

It's mutiny by choice around here; even my kids are sick of looking at me. That's not saying a lot since my kids are always sick of looking at me though. Must have something to do with the fact I am always up in their faces telling them what to do. I am trying not to examine that relation of cause and effect too deeply.

Instead, I'm focusing my energy on heading to Vancouver to help a friend.

You see, I received a very disturbing phone call from her husband who is distraught and confused and in a last ditch effort to turn the marital ship around he called me.

Poor delusional bastard. Must suck when I'm the only option one can avail themselves for emergency levity.


P1020275_2Oh NOES!! What have I done?

The problem is, this woman, my known doppleganger, is in a bit of a hairy situation. Literally. It turns out she hit adult onset puberty and isn't adjusting very well.

Since her husband knows I'm all too familiar with nipple hairs and chin whiskers, he asked begged me to fly out to their house to educate his late blooming wife on how to deal with the fact she's morphing from a smoking hot mom to a dowdy, overly hairy female.

He's hoping I can transform her into, well, me.

My children may think I'm going to Mr.Lady's house for good times and laughter.

But they haven't seen what I'm up against. What The Donor is asking me to do because he is unable to bring himself to do it himself.

So I'm strapping on my Spandex and donning my cape, all so that I can save the marriage of one of my dearest friends.

After all, no man should have to wake up each morning to look at this:


Seriously Shannon. How could you let yourself go this badly???

Shame on you Mr.Lady for not plucking sooner.

But have no fear, with a little shaving cream, your husband's razor and my trusted tweezers, I'll have you back in Hot Momma form in no time.

The things I do for my friends, I tell ya.

If you don't hear back from me by Monday, you know the bearded lady got the best of me and strangled me with one of her newly sprouted chest hairs.

Wish me luck.