My battle with hair is both manifold and multiform. Ridiculous growth and outrageous loss both plague my early-30’s body. It is worse than puberty….and I still have acne. My back looks like the beach of Normandy, 1944. My frontal baldness has subtly crept up on me, taking an unostentatious widow’s peak and turning it into something of which Bram Stoker would be proud. If I place my index fingers at the two furthest points from my face, where my forehead stops and my scalp begins, I am literally pointing to the back of my head. Outrageous.
So let’s head south. I am able to grow some facial hair, but my nickname is “Captain Patchy Beard” or “Burbs” so it isn’t exactly manly growth. My ears need weekly trimming and my nose hairs make me look like I have tiny hedgehogs burrowing into face. I’ve never had chest hair before but that is changing too. I’ve had exactly eleven nipple hairs since “the big change” when I was 14 or 15 years old. Yup, six 3” fly traps encircling the left nipple and five 3” stringers on the right. I plucked them on occasion and sometimes shaved them when they started to catch on my long sleeve button-ups, but they were basically harmless. I now have two perfect rings of fire at the exact edges of my areolas. The circles are complete and full. If you found them in nature, you would step inside and make a wish. I am also getting a nice inverted triangle betwixt my man-boobs similar to Zangief of Street Fighter, but instead of a curly bushel, Magnum P.I. style; I have long, straight, black silkies, matted to my chest with sweat and exuded oil. It is disgusting. So I now have to shave my chest and nipples regularly being careful not to uncap the whiteheads with my Mach3.
Sorry, but we are continuing south. My lower body is nothing less than Yeti-like. I have gobs of hair bursting from my pudgy hocks. My nethers, if left unkempt, would ensnare cotton, paper, lint, insects, really anything within its Velcro-y grasp. So I have to do a little tuck ‘n tails as well. Men, you may think it feminine, you may think it gross, but trust me, you have got to spruce up the undercarriage. Dude, you are disgusting, and sweaty, and rank-ass-stanky and all that hair is just holding onto your filth and smell like an enormous moldy sponge. Grab the clippers, set it to a 2, and get to work. Remember that loose skin is an electric clipper's prey, so do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Your women will thank you…I promise.
I’m fighting a battle that I can’t win, but I will continue the fight. The day I give up the trimmer is the day I start wearing pants with elastic waist bands. If this is what it is like at 32, what the hell is it going to be like at 42?
4 comments:
It won't get any rosier I fear. Thank God for nair, trimmers, and wax, to help your day. Just be glad you are not the other sex with the same problem, a chubacka in a bikini is not pretty, my freind.
So..you're saying you have less than 20 hairs on your chest...and you're complaining?
It's like the hair fairy dropped all her seeds on my body as I was sleeping when I turned 25, and it's been downhill from there.
I would wager that I have hair-to-hair contact over every square inch of my body except my back. (I was sleeping on my back when the hair fairy stopped by)
You can no longer see any signs of flesh on my back, it's all hair. My front is almost to that same point. The hair in my cleavage (yes I've got cleavage, I'm almost a B-Cup) is so long you can wrap it almost 2 times around two fingers. Stop shaving man. Haven't you seen that Seinfeld episode????
If there's one thing I got from my Italian ancestry it's uncontrollable hair growth.
Had a hairy chest, back, legs, and arms since I was a teen. My hairline hasn't receded at all. Oh it's gotten gray but that can be fixed.
No serious ear or nose hair yet at my advanced age of 43.
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