The Thought

One thing we all say but rarely mean?

'Oh, it's the thought that counts!'

Usually in regard to some extremely inappropriate or unwanted gift. We say it to console ourselves and stop that initial impulse to beat the person to death who got a diabetic a cake-of-the-month membership for a whole year. Or gave the guy bound to a wheelchair for life a treadmill. After all, at least they cared enough to TRY and get a gift right? Even though we never actually feel that way and still end up with an unwanted present and a murderous urge. Sometimes it's pretty obvious no thought was given or, worse, the gift is a passive-aggressive message of barely-contained contemptuous criticism. My mom doesn't get on with my dad's mom; early in their marriage, when my parents both had demanding jobs for Grumann Aerospace in, of all places, Cape fucking Canaveral--you know, where they fucking LAUNCH ROCKETS--my grandmother frequently criticized her for not cooking meals for my dad when they were working a fifty hour week each. My mom likes to cook but never had the time, nor the energy, but my grandmother gave her a set of wooden spoons and a 'beginner' cookbook for Christmas their first year. She's lucky she lived in New York and my parents in Florida because even in the photos she looks like she's ready to kill someone. (Thinking about it, though, my mom looks like that a lot. She's not a very nice lady.)

So we doggedly insist the thought is what counts even when we're not thrilled with the result.

I know I'm guilty of this.

One of the few occasions on which I actually did appreciate the thought was very recently and, like so many of my anecdotes, involves the boything. It was extremely sweet even though I thought I was going to give myself a hernia laughing.

The first time we were together, he shaved his chest.

Back up for a second here. I never initially had any interest in Max as a boyfriend and didn't for a long time. He's sweet and cute, but not my physical type. I know, I'm shallow--deal with it. I don't find him unattractive, just not what I typically go for--I almost exclusively prefer men (and women) who fall in the range of 'androgynous' to 'feminine'. So this guy and this chick are way hotter to me than anybody who resembles the cast of 'Baywatch'. The harder a time I have telling what their plumbing might be, the sexier it is, and I've never been into the 'bear' types. Just not a big fan of body hair.

Max, however, is upholstered. He has more shag carpeting than my parent's first house from the 70s. He is excessively furry in ways that seriously make me think somebody in his family history had sexual congress with a Wookiee. Or Bigfoot. Or something. Or maybe he's like a werewolf or something. All I can be sure of is that the part of his genetic code that dictates his body hair is probably not human in origin.

Like I said, I am not into body hair on anybody and it has nothing to do with hair being 'unfeminine' on women or any sexist belief like that because I don't like it on anybody. In the end I don't especially care about Max's because I adore him, but he knows I'm not fond of people who have more upholstery than my car. (And before anybody gets mad at me, I never said it to him in direct reference to his own body, it was just something I mentioned before we got together because I'm not exactly shy about my indiscriminate sexual tastes. I never did, and never would, say something like, 'Well I like you but you're too hairy.' That would be mean.) Because he is aware of this, he's fairly self-conscious about it and the first time we were together he shaved his chest.

I didn't expect it and it's not like I didn't know he was half Wookiee--I'd seen him shirtless before so I knew he had chest hair from the neck down. It was so unexpected and looked so out of place (PROTIP GUYS: if you're going to shave just one patch of body hair, you are not going to fool anybody because a hairless groomed area looks out of place if you otherwise have a fur coat) that it was painfully funny even though it was probably really inappropriate to laugh. I couldn't help it. IT WAS AN INTENSE SEXUAL MOMENT AND I LAUGHED UNTIL I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO PASS OUT. And then I couldn't breathe and had a coughing fit but he's very easygoing and hard to upset so he just laughed right along.

Still, it was really sweet even though I made him promise never to do it again. He doesn't look right like that and it was pretty futile anyway. In the three days I was with him it started to grow back and snuggling with him was like cuddling a sheet of sandpaper. I love him to bits and I wouldn't want him to change himself drastically just because he thinks that's what I want.

Funny and misguided though it was, it will probably live on forever as the cutest and silliest thing anybody ever did for me.