I've still got it

A couple of days ago I was driving into Dallas alone, crossing Lake Ray Hubbard, noting what looked like dozens of boats out that day. It was a beautiful day: on clear days you can see the skyline of Dallas from the ridge in Rockwall; sometimes there is a brown halo over the city, other times you think you can almost make out the windows on the buildings. I was just appreciating the view when I was aware of a car next to me, appreciating the view. Into my car. It was a couple of frat-boy lookalikes in a black truck towing a boat trailer behind them, looking at me as if I had just walked through a construction site in a bikini.
I was talking to a friend on the phone at the time, and noted that I really should be offended...but it makes me a little guilty to say that it was flattering to have two young, decent-looking-if-nothing-else-guys putting a crick in their own necks to stare me down on the highway. I passed them, and a few minutes later got caught behind a car and Tweedledee and Tweedledum coasted up alongside me once again. This time Tweedledum, the passenger, really turned on the charm. With a cigarette lightly resting between two fingers, he began to blow kisses at me, practically stubbing out his cigarette on the closed window in the process, so I humored them because they had humored me. I gave them a wave and drove on.
Later I wondered what they had found so appealing about me. I have never attracted that type before, and yes, I am shamelessly stereotyping here because it makes for a good story. At least in my mind. Later that evening I made sure to take plenty of time to look at myself in the mirror and admire how good my hair looked in a ponytail like that, how the chapstick really made my lips look pouty. I haven't spent that much time admiring my appearance since prom night, and I have to say that I owe them one, those two boat-towers. I went to bed, thinking that in the fluorescent glow of my bedside lamp my skin had never looked more radiant. The later it got, the less I began to think of those guys as neanderthals and the more I began to think of their taste.
Before turning off the lamp, I went to pick a piece of lint string off my stomach, but I couldn't because IT WAS ATTACHED TO ME. What I had mistaken for a thread of fabric was indeed a two inch hair growing out of my ribcage, thick and sort of dark. What was going on? Just when I was feeling so good about myself, when I had been noted and appreciated by some of Texas' finest, I begin growing freakishly long hairs from strange parts of my body. Coincidence?
Am now secretly afraid that I may be secreting some kind of hormone and have been watching my back for small rodent-like animals trailing me.