Waiting for Spring
I feel like I know all of the hairs on my face.
As a scruffy guy, in-grown hair is the enemy of my beauty, which I guess in some way is tied to my happiness.
In-grown hair brings teenager zits which makes me stay inside and 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 tweez will get it next time I’m at the mirror.
I touch my face alot, maybe too much, but I say mind your own business while leaning on my left palm and biting my right pinky nail. Hand germs don’t scare me!
I grew up eating tons of fish from Lake Erie and eating food off the floor against my mother’s warnings. Of course I have never used that hand sanitizer crap.
Just an old school soap and water boy.
My white blood cells will kick your white blood cell’s asses, bring it on!
You better have your shots because I don’t! Huzzuh! OK, I have the important ones.
I look in the mirror alot lately, hunting and pecking. Maybe it’s the winter cabin fever.
Maybe just 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.