Sun., Auggie 20, 41 A.B.

Dear Eyebrows:

Tell me again - who was it who died and made you Lord of the Face?

Don't play dumb now.  You know what I'm talking about as well as I do.  Think back.  Back to this morning.  Back to when I got up, walked into the bathroom, glanced into my mirror and saw


I don't see how you could forget something like that so soon, since it must have taken you weeks to grow something that long.  All I can say is, you're lucky I saw it before I tripped.  When I trip I sometimes hit my head, you know.  I've even been known to hit an eyebrow or two when I land.

Don't ever say I didn't warn you!

I just don't understand.  When I was young and had enough energy to pluck night after night, all night long, you never exuded a single strand worth taking tweezers in hand for.  You were always so polite.  Even bashful.  I can still recall staring, staring, staring into the mirror when you didn't seem to be paying any attention to me, watching as you struggled to put forth your first tentative little tips.  You seemed so unsure of yourself.  It was so obvious that my face was your first - I had to smile.  I even pulled for you on occasion, even though it left me with black eyes. I didn't mind.  I was proud you had chosen my brow to call your home.  Plus I somehow knew how funny I would look if you ever left.  (I think I may have been enlightened on that point by a stray copy of Hustler magazine.... Hmmmm....)

But now...  Now those days are but a faded memory.  Or a foggy memory.  Or a faded, foggy memory.  Anyway, my point is that now that I'm an old and tired man of 41 and a half as of Wednesday, you seem to think you can take advantage of my weakened condition and ride roughshod all over a visage too wizened to defend itself from your encircling curls.

Well, nuts to that!  I'm on to you, you dirty little fiends!  And I will NOT stand idly by while you attempt to take over the world!!

I think what you need, perhaps, is a more structured environment.  Someplace where the sun doesn't shine and doesn't encourage lush growth.  Someplace where I can keep an eye on you without doing permanent damage to that damnably inelastic optic nerve thingee.

Ahhh, I THOUGHT that would get a rise out of you!  Too late to apologize now.  I've already recruited your replacement from - well, let's just say from a place where the hairs know better than to draw attention to themselves by growing straight and long.  I think you'll like it there in their stead.  And if you don't, well, at least no one will be able to hear your screams.

I'm sorry it had to come to this.  I really am.  For years, I looked up to you.  Decade after decade, I never once thought of going to a party without you.  I don't think I even have a single photograph of myself that doesn't include you, too.

Oh, how tired my scissors hand is going to be after excising you from all the albums!!

Tell you what: I'll pardon you this time if you'll agree to tell me all you know about nose hair and ear hair.  You were all in on this together, weren't you?  This sudden mid-life power grab was a conspiracy, wasn't it?  A well-planned attempt to seize the head while the head was still worth seizing - right?  RIGHT?!

Fine.  Exercise your right to remain silent.  I suppose I could interrogate all your hairs separately until I got to the roots of the matter, but I simply can't be bothered.

You had your chance.

Now it's time to say hello to Mr. Norelco....

Auggie 20, 41 A.B

Back To A Time
When Men Were As Good As Gold
And Hairs Were As Good As
Gold Thread


Home To Conduct An Entry-To-Entry Search
For Mr. Evil Follicle


Forward To - I Forget What...
It's All So Faded... Or So Foggy...
Or Maybe Foggy AND Faded


(©Now by Dan Birtcher, Tough Lover Extraordinaire)

And Now A Few Words Of Encouragement To Our Young People

Hi, kids.  Hey, listen.  Despite what this entry may lead you to believe, it really isn't so bad getting old and tired.  In fact, old and tired has lots of advantages!  Like, for one thing, when you're old, you need lots less light in order to reminisce.  It's true!  Most young people won't so much as admit to ever having been the stupid little tots they were just 10 or 20 years earlier no matter how bright a light you shine in their faces.  But old people - ha!  The moment the sun comes up or someone so much as flips on a light in the dead of night, they're so happy just to still be alive that they're ready to tell you for the 165th time what their vacation in Utah 33 years ago was like.  They'll tell you what they ate, what gas prices were, how badly they were constipated, and exactly why everyone on earth ought to see the fire hydrants of Salt Lake City at least once before they die.  (They're painted to resemble dogs!)  So don't let the threat of overly rambunctious body hair keep YOU from getting old.  Come on in - the weather's fine!  :)

(Did I mention they're painted to resemble dogs?)