The Heir To Ishtar's Legacy

2 - Hypertrichosis

I was no more enamoured by Ruth than I had been at our first meeting. But, the footings for my therapy had now been firmly established - with a fellow werewolf, no less. Ruth's terse reminder that the correct term was 'Lycan' echoed in my mind. I chuckled.

Now, back at home, I was constantly reminded about the pending party and subsequent announcement.  My mother seemed to think of nothing else and kept hassling me at every opportunity to get involved with preparations. Quite why she bothered asking for some input, I hadn't a clue, for Mummy Dearest normally had everything in hand regardless of what was being celebrated. 

The most infuriating part, however, was the guest list. The attendees were all associated with my parents and, of course, the True Religion. None of my friends were invited. None! Then again, why would they be? I thought sullenly. They were mainstream - fangless, non-hairy, normal humans. Such 'unworthies' would only be looked upon as the party food.

The impromptu reflection caused me to laugh, but the humour was short-lived. My Mum and Dad were fiercely devout disciples, and they wouldn't approve of me belittling their deity and faith with such sarcasm. 

However, it did make me think. What would happen if the likes of my friends were invited? Mingling would be nigh on impossible for them, especially if my parents' guests spoke only of their religion and alleged shape-shifting abilities; a completely bizarre and somewhat disconcerting subject to the average mainstream individual. No, my friends would most likely bid a polite farewell and leave the party early to go and have some real fun elsewhere, making a note that my folks and their friends were nutcases and I would probably be tarred with the same brush.

I continued packing my belongings in preparation for the day after the party when  I was due to move into my own flat - a far more interesting announcement than the one my folks had planned. At least I thought so. It was something I'd planned for quite a while but the reality had never come to fruition, mainly due to not finding somewhere I really liked or could afford. 

I'd refused my Dad's help financially as I wanted to show him I could stand on my own two feet - perhaps four paws would be more appropriate, considering, I meditated. Again, I laughed, but this time, it was salty. Was it nerves about the party and pending anointment that made me so cynical and snarky? Or was it just the fact that I still thought the whole werewolf thing was nuts? 

Truth be told, after my therapy session, I was starting to think there may be something to all this nonsense. Maybe not in the way books and films portrayed it, but I had read about the 'werewolf' children. Congenital Terminal Hypertrichosis, often accompanied by Gingival Hyperplasia, a condition which was characterised by the presence of fully pigmented hair that covers the entire body - aka werewolf syndrome. 

However, my dad wasn't particularly hirsute. Thinking back over the years, I suddenly realised he'd never even been swimming with me. He'd only taken me to the pool, where a coach tutored me. And holidays? He didn't wander about bare-chested like so many guys did, or even wear shorts.  As for Mum; well, I hadn't really bothered taking much notice, but as I now probed my memories, I couldn't think of a single moment her legs were on display. Mum had always worn maxi skirts and dresses or jeans or trousers. One couldn't deny the woman had a great figure, but she didn't flaunt it, at all. Why?

Now I'm just being ridiculous! I chastised myself. They're just proud, or shy, I reasoned further.  And, I'm not hairy, either!  But, subconsciously, I found myself inspecting my arms and legs just to be sure. Nope, all seemed normal. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?

But, the seeds were now planted, and their roots were bedded firmly in place. My agitation refused to subside, and packing became erratic. I started throwing things into boxes and bags, all at a disconcerting pace.