How on earth could mother nature get it so wrong? Where I want it, I ain't got it. And where I've got it, I don't want or need it. I'm of course talking about hair.
Let's start from the top and work down shall we? After all, that's where most of my blogs head anyway!
My head. I have just counted the hairs on my head. 27. 14 ear, 19 nasal, and the rest where they should be on my scalp. Except not. They've kinda slipped towards each ear. Honestly, it's like a fight broke out up there, and the hair decided to take sides, with some going one way, the rest going the other. And they have asked my ears to pick sides. So, in the middle, is just like an expansive wasteland. The only thing that's missing is the rusty shopping trolleys, and the stained mattress.
And my ears. Why the heck have my ears started to sprout hair? My hearing is bad enough as it is, without the extra filtration of hair! It gets so damn long in there, that I could get a part in panto as Rapunzel, and when asked to let down my hair, offer great locks of the stuff coming out of my ears.
The problem with ear hair, is that I can't see it. And unless anyone tells me its there, I don't always know until it's too damn late. And Mrs B takes great delight in getting the garden shears out to hack them off. After she's platted them first.
And nasal hair. I TRY to keep it in check, but the bloody stuff grows faster than I can keep it in check. Most of the time, I walk around like I've got a bloody scrubbing brush shoved up each nostril.
And keeping it in check is bloody painful!
Guys, you'll sympathize with me on this one. But if you use your clippers on nasal hair, and the get caught, you end up accidentally plucking. And doesn't THAT bring tears to your eyes!
And then there's the eyebrows.
Now those buggers REALLY have a life of their own! NO hair clippers, scissors or garden shears in the world are man enough for them. So out comes the machete. I have to tie rope around Mrs B's waist, and send her in. She then hacks away as best she can to try to bring the whole thing under control. At this point she becomes less hairdresser, and more horticulturalist.
Right. That takes care of the head. Moving down......
My upper body and arms are so hairy, I am now officially on the endangered species list. And the fact that I also drag my knuckles on the ground certainly doesn't help matters. I am on constant poacher alert.
We have had to ban flannelet sheets in our bed, because once I get in, I can't get out without a lot of help. I stick to it like bloody Velcro. The only way I can get out, is for Mrs B to get a crowbar, wedge it underneath me, and lever me out. And if I don't stay rigid whilst she does it, I end up sticking to the bed again, and we have to start all over. Everyone in our street would know when I got up, because of the tearing Velcro sound coming from our house.
The only bit we try to keep under control, is the back of my neck. But get that wrong, or wear a T shirt that's a bit lower cut than the rest, and I look like I'm smuggling tarantulas back there.
Now at this point, I am going to issue a warning. It seems my last blog, for some strange reason, put one or two of you off your food. The fact that by now, regular readers should know that it is not wise to eat and read this stuff at the same time seemed a bit lost on one person in particular. Bless her. So, you might wanna put that bacon sandwich down for a second.
And maybe grab a bucket.
I'm gonna go to the 'Gentleman's Area'. Bet your glad I suggested the bucket now eh?
It just happens to be the most follicle intense area of my entire body. Now that in itself, is not a major problem. But lets just say that the longest thing down there should not be hair. Every time I go to the bathroom, it involves a hell of a lot of 'fishing' around amongst the undergrowth, until I eventually find the little chap.
And when foreplay consists of playing 'Where's Willie', it kinda gets a bit boring after a while.
So, last time we did find it, I tagged it with string and a label. And provided the label I find doesn't say 'Wash at 40 degrees', I know we're on the right track. I'm thinking if we could harvest whatever it is that makes the hair grow at the rate it does 'down there', we could solve the worlds deforestation problems overnight.
At this point, you're probably thinking 'don't go round the back'. Don't worry. I am not about to talk about my hairy butt on here. Even I have standards you know!
Now my leg hair doesn't really cause any real problems, thank goodness. I have enough to deal with as it is. Leg hair is a bigger problem for women than men. Except when you don't shave for a few days, and we rub up against it. I have suffered less skin damage falling off my bike, than accidentally rubbing against the stubble of an unshaven female leg.
But just try to mention it to your nearest and dearest. I don't shave for a few days, I pretty soon know all about it. But show me a chap that was stupid enough to mention his loved one that she may need to 'Veet up', and I'll show you a chap who is spending a lot of time sleeping in his car, with a black eye, and contemplating the error of his ways.
Right. That's more than enough grossing out of everyone for one day. Let's just hope Mrs B let's me back in the house to post this thing.
And maybe give me a steak for this black eye.
P.T.F.O.
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