Transman came home from work and was beat. All he wanted was to veg out and wait for the shepherd’s pie to warm up. Little did he know, a challenge to his masculinity was looming on the horizon.
Son 1 plopped down on the couch next to Transman and put his feet up on the coffee table. The lad slapped his belly and raised an eyebrow at Transman. The gauntlet had been tossed.
“I have hair on my chest now,” the boy said, making sure Transman understood the full implication of the chest thumping and belly slapping. Indeed, the hair that a month before had simply encircled the kid’s belly button was now heading north, ready to meet up with the lad’s eyebrows at some point.
Transman put his leg up next to the boy’s.
“Still, I have winter socks and you’re naked as a Jaybird,” Transman said, eyeing the sparse blond hairs on the lad’s calf. Next to the glorious fur socks covering Transman’s shin, the boy’s pale leg looked like it might just glow in the dark.
Transman’s son ran a finger over the fuzz on his upper lip and said, “I have a mustache.”
“That just looks like dirt,” Transman said. He stopped short of spitting on his finger and rubbing at the shadowy fuzz. “Besides, I have 10 chin whiskers.”
“Whiskers schmiskers. I have a mustache. M-U-S-T-A-C-H-E … MUSTACHE!” The lad grinned and smoothed down the wispy hairs on his upper lip.
“Yeah, well, I have my driver’s license,” Transman said and jiggled his car keys at the kid. “In your face!”