Hairy Phlegm

The day before yesterday, I was disgusting. Every time I extended my arm, I knocked something over. When I spoke, I gurgled with phlegm. When I coughed, I saw small pieces of egg and rice go flying across the room. When I caught sight of my body in the mirror, (which has not seen the sun in months) I was shocked at how dreadfully white and scrawny it was. My lower left eye-lid developed compulsive twitches that came and left all day. My hair (what little there is of it,) only served to illustrate the fact that I am going bald. When I sat down, I discovered there was a marble-sized zit in my ass. When I leaned forward to look at something, my wife helped my snowballing insecurity problem by asking "Do you fertilise your ears, or how do they produce that much hair?"

Of course, there is nothing a man likes to hear about more than the fact that his ears are once again going the way of the jungle. Especially on a twitchy, stumbling, clumsy, egg-spitting sort of day. Naturally, the first answer that occurs to me when I am feeling insecure and someone inquires about fertiliser in my ears is to say "Yes, I use the same fertiliser your mother used to grow that ass of hers." However, in a marriage, wisdom and discretion should rule all, and it would not be kind to say such things to a person who will shortly be pointing scissors at your brain.

So after my wife did her scissorly ministrations to the orifices of my head, (for which in all honesty I am extremely grateful, as I do spend a fair amount of time speaking to seated (ie. captive) students at close range, and I have been fairly horrified at some of the things I have encountered on them, so it is kind of my wife to take such an interest in maintaining my professional appearance and thus allowing my students the ability to concentrate on their work and not be distracted by any unpleasantness they might encounter on their teacher's head.

So after my wife kindly corrected my ears, I immediately went and did some exercises. As the blood flowed through my challenged muscles, it gave me a boost of energy and testosterone, and allowed me to feel like I wasn't always going to look like I had just been sick for 2 weeks. Then I gave myself a haircut. My hair was getting on toward 3/16ths of an inch, which is far too long, in my book. Then I took a bath, and scrubbed every inch of my greasy body with an abrasive sponge. I pinched zits and clipped and ripped out stray hairs scattered hither and thither. I put some nice-smelling aftershave cream on my new, smooth, face. Then I dressed in some flashy-looking jeans and a sexy shirt, and strolled out to see my wife, feeling once again that I was the master of the universe. And as I leaned over her to look at the computer screen, she twisted around in her chair and whispered in my ear, "You know, you're getting a lot of grey in your beard."