A few wisps of peach fuzz over there, sure I'll let it slide. But if you can braid his lower back hairs into a friendship bracelet, then I'm out.
It's like the Mona Lisa, I feel it's watching me wherever I go. I try to fake it out; I move quickly from one side of the room the next. No dice. It's still watching, peeking out from over his jeans like a hairy tramp stamp. To quote Hall and Oats, "I can't go for that/ no can do."