When I was a child I would pull hair off my head. Not randomly. I had a sweet spot right in the top center of my scalp. I envisioned wicked silver hairs taking over my whole scalp, sprouting from that evil lair, and I, the vanquishing warrior princess, determined to save the hair kingdom from silver doom.
Oh and the evil queen who sided with the silver enemy would often catch the princess and condemn her to the dungeon (where she hatched her plans in stealth).
Then I grew up and realized having a bald spot was so not sexy. So I sadly let the hair grow out. Fortunately, the silver enemy was not so proliferate as I once believed (but the princess still hunts from time to time).
I then turned to pulling other hairs off my body. I won’t tell you exactly where, but growing up, it was frustrating to have fuzz occurring in very odd places. So I would pull them off as much as I could. Somehow the pulling fulfilled a strange need in me, so much that I didn’t mind the pain. I later found out about razors, so that was that.
Lately I’ve been feeling the need to pull again. I’m not really a very hairy person so that kinda limits my options. Today I was scratching my leg, which I never shave ever since that one and only time I shaved them and the next few days they felt like fresh wood in dire need of sanding.
Absentmindedly I pulled off a few short hairs. And then some more. And then a bit more! Ooooh, that felt really really satisfying!
The princess has some fresh campaigning to do… La la la…