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30Mar/100

Randomly waiting for spring

I feel like I know all of the beard hairs on my face. Not in a friendly way. In fact, I am their overlord, waiting and reviewing constantly for a whisker to go in-grown.

Being a scruffy guy, in-grown hair is the enemy of my beauty, which in some way is tied to my happiness. Ingrown hair gives me teenager zits which makes me want to stay inside and/or be short with people. Who needs to stare at that, and who needs another rude person in the world?

So with a simple swipe of my hand across my face, I can check on existing issues or detect new candidates. Sometimes, using only my hands and my sense of touch I can detect, remove, and smooth over one of those little bastards. If it can escape my blind picking then me and the tweezers will get it next time I'm in front of the mirror.

I touch my face alot, some say way too much, I say mind your own business while leaning on my left palm and biting my right pinky nail. Your stupid hand germs don't scare me! I grew up eating primarily Lake Erie fish, eating food off the floor against my mother's warnings, and have almost never used that hand sanitizer crap. My white blood cells will kick your white blood cell's asses, bring it on! You better have your shots because I don't, haha! (OK, I have the important ones.)

I also look in the mirror alot lately, primarily to hunt and peck whiskers. Maybe it's the winter cabin fever, maybe it's to get a daily update on my battle scars, maybe it's pure narcissism. This is being blogged after all, so yeah I know. F you too.

Posted via email from 2M :: REAX

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