I take risks, dammit!

People ask the most obnoxious questions.  One time my waxing technician asked me how often I have sex.  This was an out-of-the-blue question.  And it's not like she was working down there either.  The conversation went something like this: I complained, "I have so much hair.  I hate it!" And the waxing technician responded, "How often do you have sex?"  To which I asked (sort of as politely as possible) "WTF????????"

Apparently, her theory is that having sex means you grow less hair.  I would have appreciated if she just informed me of this information and left me to do the calculating.  Geez.  Some people.

Last week,  I was at the eye doctor.  I've known him for most of my life.  (That's how long I've been wearing glasses.  I think I came out near sighted...and hairy.)  I explained to him that since I hardly ever wear my glasses outside the house, I decided to go out of my comfort zone a little bit and get a pair of frames with a little bling.  He responded, "Wow.  Here I thought you were caged in your comfort zone."

Hmph.