With hairs on my fingers and hairs on my toes,
I frighten small children wherever I go.
My legs are like footballers‘,
All covered in fur.
My armpits a mess,
Of dark prickly hair.
Hairs on my forearms and hairs on my hands,
The hairiest mummy blogger in all of the land.
I hide them in jumpers,
With long woolly sleeves.
And thank God you can’t see,
Through my computer screen.
The hairs on my top lip make me look like a man,
A job in the circus could easily be mine.
With over-grown eyebrows,
In need of a pluck.
It’s very tempting to say,
Ah who gives a fuck.
Why does society always demand so much?
Why must we shave, wax, sugar and pluck?
Why is natural,
No longer allowed?
And damn it why am I,
So well hair endowed?
Picture source: Oast House Archives
About Heather
