Yank
Normally, I don’t spend too much time in front of the mirror doing my hair in the morning. The daily ritual entails wetting my hair (I wash it the night before I go to bed), brushing the unruly spots, finger-styling the curls and waves, sticking a toque on (to settle any puffiness) and removing the toque when I arrive wherever I’m going.
Fortunately, those are the good days.
Unfortunately, there are more bad days than good days.
Today, I see a hair that is being exceptionally stubborn and won’t curl over my left ear. Using my index finger, then a few more, I try to move the stupid thing away. Any attempt is an attempt in futility. The fucking hair is protruding out the side of my head like… like a fucking hair that is protruding out the side of my head.
It’s time to pull out the scissors and slash the protruding limb. Snip, snip and it’s over.
The closer I get to the mirror with the scissors in my right hand, I notice something is amiss. The hair isn’t on my head, it’s on my ear. No problem; sometimes the bulb is a little sticky when it comes out of your head.
With my index finger and thumb, I make the pinching motion and try to pull off the imposing hair. What happens is the hair rises a few centimetres, and so does my ear.
Come fuckin’ on. This crazy fucker is over an inch long and is growing on my ear. No way!
What’s the fuck is up with that? Is this part of the quarter life crisis? You’re not sure about your scholastic choices, career, friends and lovers, so God makes hair grow on top of your ear – a fucking cherry on top of a calorie-laden cake, smothered in frosting and sprinkles – just to make your life even more pleasant.
Down go the scissors and out come the tweezers; one yank and it’s gone.
Now the coif is settled, with nary a hair out of place. Literally.
But, it could be worse.
I could be bald with hair growing on top of my ear.
Fortunately, those are the good days.
Unfortunately, there are more bad days than good days.
Today, I see a hair that is being exceptionally stubborn and won’t curl over my left ear. Using my index finger, then a few more, I try to move the stupid thing away. Any attempt is an attempt in futility. The fucking hair is protruding out the side of my head like… like a fucking hair that is protruding out the side of my head.
It’s time to pull out the scissors and slash the protruding limb. Snip, snip and it’s over.
The closer I get to the mirror with the scissors in my right hand, I notice something is amiss. The hair isn’t on my head, it’s on my ear. No problem; sometimes the bulb is a little sticky when it comes out of your head.
With my index finger and thumb, I make the pinching motion and try to pull off the imposing hair. What happens is the hair rises a few centimetres, and so does my ear.
Come fuckin’ on. This crazy fucker is over an inch long and is growing on my ear. No way!
What’s the fuck is up with that? Is this part of the quarter life crisis? You’re not sure about your scholastic choices, career, friends and lovers, so God makes hair grow on top of your ear – a fucking cherry on top of a calorie-laden cake, smothered in frosting and sprinkles – just to make your life even more pleasant.
Down go the scissors and out come the tweezers; one yank and it’s gone.
Now the coif is settled, with nary a hair out of place. Literally.
But, it could be worse.
I could be bald with hair growing on top of my ear.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
4 Comments:
Lol, I had a two incher last month. It was horrible, and I was convinced it had grown in one day. (how else to explain that I hadn't noticed it before?)
Aging.....good times.
Oh, yeah, you never see those kinds of hairs when they are short. They just instantly appear, four feet long, out of nowhere.
And don't get me started about finding grey ones certain places.
Torn: You're only as old as you... eh, forget it. No one believes that line, anyway.
Six: Call them highlights when you find them with your unmentionables.
Oh my dear Steven,
you're becoming an old man, with hair growing out of all your orifices. I just love the word"orifice", don't you?
love,
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