Living in a house full of women, it was inevitable that some level of concern about personal grooming would be forced on me. It just took a while. I am the odd man out of glamour discussions – the thorn among roses. I wouldn’t say beast because that implies hairy and I’ve never been a hairy bloke… until lately.
All of the sudden, I am finding hair in the oddest places. While my scalp might be shedding it, my ears and nose seem to be growing it at an alarming rate.
It must be the cartilage – that stuff acts like a weird hair magnet.
Cartilage [kahr-tl-ij] – a strange word and even stranger substance. Did you know that the cartilage in your ears and nose continues to grow long after your bones and muscles stop? Seriously, it does. That’s why cute old men have those bulbous noses and floppy ears. With that in mind, you would think my cartilage would be a good bouncer and at least check ID to make sure I’m geriatric before allowing the hair in. Instead, cartilage must be French for “Come on in, guys. The party’s in here!”
And so, my body is showing preliminary signs of capitulation.
But this I will fight!
Round 1: Shaving. There may not be a ton of nerves in the ear flap (and certainly no conscious), but there must be capillaries out the wazoo – oh, the blood.
Round 2: Tweezing. Initial success, but soon it became a full time job like cutting the lawn with fingernail clippers.
Round 3: Out of options, I made an impulsive decision to join the women and wax. After all, women do it. It can’t be that bad. Put in on, rip it off… smooth. Easy.
I had a willing volunteer to help. My third daughter, JB decided that since there was a potential to cause me pain, she would be happy to help. (This one looks like a china doll, but can snap like a piranha when agitated.)
We read the instructions, heated the wax and slathered it generously on my ear. That part wasn’t so bad. The application of hot wax did hurt a little, but I sucked it up. It was the next part that made me doubt both the sanity of my decision and all things holy…
She ripped it off.
At first, I thought my ear was gone for sure. It was a moment of pain like no other and I’ve been through the birth of four children (where my wife squeezed my hand really hard)! The pain of childbirth (such as I experienced) never approached what I just felt! I actually thought I saw Mike Tyson’s teeth out of the corner of my eye as a chunk of my ear went sailing over the ropes into the audience. It was awful until I mercifully blacked out.
I regained consciousness only to look up to JB’s sadistic smile. “Ready for the other one?” she asked.
I whimpered, but sometimes you can’t go back. I slowly turned over and offered her the other ear. At least she could have found me a bullet to bite or given me a final request before dying. Instead she just giggled and ripped.
I swooned again. When I came to, I didn’t have the joy of a bouncing baby girl to hold, just some hairy, leftover wax.
I will say that my ears are smooth as a shark. But at what cost? What price is too steep in this war? Should I keep fighting or resign myself to live with more hair on my ears than on my head – like an aged member of Loverboy who used to top the charts but now only plays the occasional Bar-Mitvah?
After due consideration, I decided I would have to face the pain again in 4-6 weeks because my aged butt is way too big to fit in those red leather pants.