Hairy Tales From Italy
By Bob Tennison
About fifty years ago British television took the right approach in that the one station at that time was BBC and the other station was all commercials only.
Sadly, we here have come so far from that concept that one hour program is about forty minutes story and twenty minutes commercials, some being repeated so many times that they have been memorized. Many of these seem to be directed to women who are led to believe that underarm hair is all but punishable by law. The ones advertising Lady Speed Stick are by far the most obnoxious, what with a female acrobat doing death defying stunts flying around on ropes attached to something invisible in the sky, finally falling atop her lover with one armpit over his nose for a gentle whiff and to show him that her armpit is baby bottom hairless.
This brings back memories of fifty years ago of being in a nightclub in Naples, Italy, where I went to see a famous chanteuse from Rome. She was wearing a beautiful low cut strapless evening gown ending her first round of songs, a la Hildegarde, by holding her long chiffon handkerchief high above her head revealing enough long black hair that could have been braided and tied in small bows or trimmed to stuff a pillow.
Then on to the Isle of Capri where I was stretched out on the beach basking in the sun long before I heard about cancer and dozing off when I was awakened by two people loudly arguing. I glanced up and in my line of vision were two pairs of legs, two of which were so hairy I sat up immediately expecting to see the Wolf Man. The bickering was still going on and, much to my surprise, the hairy ones were those of a very attractive teenage girl, and those of her boyfriend were almost hairless.
The final stop on this hairy tour was Rome. I was walking down the famous Via Veneto looking for a restaurant, when I came to an outdoor café built on three tiers. I was considering lunching there when I just happened to notice men walking very slowly to and fro gazing at something grabbing their attention.
Looking to find the main attraction before entering, sitting on the third tier I saw a very obese woman sitting alone at a small table sipping a drink and obviously entertaining the male gawkers. She was wearing a very short skirt; hairy fat legs spread widely apart, no underwear in sight.
I sat well away from her so as not to block the view for the looky-loos who continued to parade in front of the restaurant. No, that would in no way have been included in Lady Speed Stick commercials, but arm and leg hair might have made an interesting commercial for Gorilla Glue. By then, I was ready to return to the hotel and shave my entire body, including my head.
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