Ugh

I was sipping a cup of refreshing Dr. Pepper(r) just now, and as I was slurping the very last of the liquid from the dregs of the crushed ice, I noticed a short brown hair adhering to the inside of the cup. Probably one of my own, from me running my hands through my stylish mop (ha!) while I relaxed, but still...

EWWWW!

Why do we have such diametrically opposed emotions about hair? I run my hands through my own hair, and especially through my wife's gorgeous red tresses, and my daughter's golden locks. I ave been known to kiss my wife and daughter, and even my sons (when they were younger and let me do such blatantly affectionate things) ON THE HAIR. I have combed my children's hair, and my wife's on occasion as well.

I even pet the cat.

My sister, the Frog, has two dogs. I would bet money that she has petted them--they are like her children. In fact, I bet she has issed them, too. My mother has a dog, too. Her dog has full run of the house, and a shaggy coat. Who here thinks that mammals don't shed? There is undoubtedly canine hair all over the house.

But the moment that the hair leaves the body, or at least breaks contact with it, the hair becomes something at which we turn up our noses. "Eww! look what was on your shirt. Don't worry, I'll throw it away."

I don't know. It just seems weird.