I’m guessing There are millions of hairs on the human body, and they come in all varieties – some are thin, long, curly, stubbly, or grey (just you wait). My parents blessed me with an Eastern European/Romanian heritage, so as you can imagine I’m quite endowed in this respective area. I get a 5:00 shadow half-way through lunch. I see my barber more often than I go grocery shopping. I buy Drano at the big box store as you can imagine the forest that inhabits my shower drain. You get the point.
I don’t really manscape. Yeah, I make sure that that I don’t have a unibrow. I also take care of anything that grows out of my ears, and I use one of those catalog ordered industrial rotary hair trimmers to mow down the stuff that sprouts from my nostrils. That’s it. No waxing of the chest, pits, back or other areas. Not for me, thank you. I’ve seen the Kelly Clarkson scene from the 40-Year-Old-Virgin, and I know that a single waxing session could put a new Cadillac in the driveway of the lucky lady who was my manscaper. That’s what you call the person who waxes you anyway, right?
So having lived with hair for pretty much all my life, I’m very familiar with the different kinds. I’ve got two colors – jet-black, and silver. Up until a few years ago it was all jet-black. The stubbly whiskers on my chin were jet-black. As were the downey arm hairs, and the wiry hobbit ones that grew on my toes. Now there are the occasional silver ones that pop up on my chest, on in my beard, or sometimes above my temples. No big deal. I prefer grey to none at all, thank you very much.
My hair textures are quite different though. The stuff on my head is straight and medium thick. Always has been. I’ve had the same hairstyle for 30 years. Mostly because I’m a low maintenance kind of guy. Jump out of the shower, and towel dry. Done. I’ve got the leg hairs that are hard to describe – sort of straight, but with a slight bend. About 3/8ths of an inch long. The 1/4 inch mid-digital stuff between the 1st and 2nd knuckles on each hand. The thick wiry curly pubes. And my favorite, the eyebrows.
I know my eyebrow hair. They are soft, and feathery, and easy to pet. When I’m reading, or watching TV, or concentrating, I find my hand drifting up to stroke my eyebrows. You see there are different kinds of guys: there are the mustache twirlers, and the beard strokers. I’m an eyebrow petter. It’s subconscious. And it feels good. I’m not hurting anybody, right? It’s not like I’m stealing TVs to pawn for crack cocaine.
To the casual observer, this is what they see. A guy concentrating and casually playing with his eyebrows. No big deal. But really what I’m doing is searching.
You see, there is one hair that I am compelled to remove. This single plucking addiction, grows above my left eye, somewhere in the top middle of my eyebrow. It’s not like any other hair on my body. Of this I am certain. This one is three times as thick as anything else around. And the fastest growing guy, too. If left to his own devices, he would sprout, and take over my forehead. So I scan. Looking for the first sign of Mr. Crazy Eyebrow Hair to appear. I can feel the instant he pops through the skin. It’s a flaw. He doesn’t belong there. And must be eradicated.
Think about it this way – you have an Andy Rooney eyebrow hair, on a Giselle Bundchen forehead. Very out of place. So I wage war. My first instinct is to use my fingers to try to pluck him out. This is a very dangerous operation. Using my fingers can result in a lot of collateral damage. Sometimes a few harmless other eyebrow hairs are removed in the process, resulting in a bald spot. If someone notices and mentions this to me, I simply state that I had a lab accident back when I was a biochemist that blew off my eyebrows, and this one little spot never grew back. I’m so clever! But really, I was just to anxious to remove the eyebrow stubble properly with a special pair of tweezers from my Swiss Army Knife.
When I am successful, and gain a hold on Mr. Crazy Eyebrow Hair, there is a quick pluck and then satisfaction. Then I must examine Him. I can clearly see that he is thicker than anything else. The ends are sharp, which for me is very unusual. A quick double check scan with my left hand, to ensure that my eyebrow is safe, and then a flick of the wrist to toss Mr. Crazy Eyebrow Hair into the toilet. In a day or two, he will be back, and my quest will resume.
