It's been a few months since I wrote an ode to earhairs. It's sad but I long for the mysterious intrigue of earhairs. A tickly, thickly curling wisp that flutters in the wind. It's hooked and I can't stop starring! Of course, there have been a few memorable chin hairs and a mole hair or two, but nothing worth a dedicated blog to my outspoken affection for such furry occurrences. I have been trying to rise above the physical foibles of those around me. But what is it they say about the best laid plans?
Upon returning to my regular cop shop gig I have seen a few wily whiskers, but have taken the high road- for the most part. Ignoring a hair collar sticking out above shirt necklines, and avoiding eye contact with caterpillar brows. Honest I was trying to be good. Until yesterday, I discovered a giant ear hair...you will never guess where. In MY own EAR. I couldn't believe it. It was awful. Possessed by a tickle I felt in my ear canal. A creepy crawling, fluttering feeling that I couldn't shake. Literally I couldn't shake it off. Heading to the loo, I thought I would discreetly pull all the hairs from both ears, you know, all those tiny fine hairs that cover a human. The fuzz that reminds us we're not too far from being the animals we were. And trust me if I'd had a razor I would've shaved myself from the eyebrows down! Getting to the washroom I studied, inspected, looked and leered at my ears- seeing nothing, but I knew it was there. I started plucking blindly. Oh did I mention that I carry tweezers with me? Cuz, yeah I do. Everywhere I go, just in case. That's when it happened. The tweezers clamped down on something. And like deep sea fishing, it was a struggle to reel that hair in- or out as the case may be. When I finally triumphed over my well rooted foe, I was .5lbs lighter and my hearing had amplified 4 fold. How long could it have been growing there? As far as I am concerned- any length of time is too long. Now, I must turn my obsession inward, I have become my own earhair-enemy.
But it could have been worse, I guess. The group I associate with at work are a mature crowd. Their eyesight isn't like use-ta-be and most have earhairs of their own, earhairs they can be proud of. So, I figure as long as I can still see, feel and pluck my own unruly rogue hairs I am ahead of the social grooming curve. But maybe we could all use a little help from our friends. One of my colleagues has asked for a lady's agreement. Using my 20/20 vision I am to alert him to any strays I may spy...though to prevent hurt feelings I have been collecting a few hairs to alert him of all at once, instead of a daily hair check-in. It's better for us both that way. I get to marvel at those wiry wonders for a few more days, and he gets to think his super power is growing multiple magnanimous hairs in an afternoon. So my fair earhairs- it's been a while since we wrote, but you are a familiar friend. Honestly though, I could do without you whispering in my ear. Literally.
Okay, so a recent informal poll I conducted suggests that if there is something wrong with you, you'd like to know. I don't mean if something is wrong with you- in my opinion specifically. I mean- if you have food in your teeth, waving it's spinachy green fingers at me, you'd like to know. Things that are wrong include but are not limited to: ear, cheek and nose hair, downed flys, boogers, flipped clothing tags and other embarrassing but easily repaired esthetic flaws. So, now that we all agree we'd rather know; why do I still worry how you're gonna take it?
Well Doctor, you see that's because nobody likes to think that they have been walking around like an a*hole with their barn door wide open. I might as well take all the confidence you had at that moment, tie it to the biggest anchor I can find and throw it overboard while shouting: 'That'll teach ya for getting too big for your britches. ' cackling all the way back to shore. Pointing out flaws is a terrible feeling for all involved. The victim's "Oh no, I ate 2 hours ago and I've had a hydroponic sesame garden growing in my mouth since" feeling and the messenger's "I wish I didn't have to do this, they'll wish I'd done it sooner." feeling. It stands to reason, you're better to hear it from me, than to head to the bathroom and spot it yourself half a day later. Though reason is seldom applied to vanity.
The strangest thing about this awkward social situation is even if I am part of a much larger group; the responsibility falls to me. I can be at work as the problematic Bat in the Batcave twists in the wind- while the cave dweller tells an emphatic story- everyone sees it. EVERYONE! But nobody says anything... So I wait until the story ends. Either insert a laugh or sympathetic head shake whichever seems appropriate; because I wasn't listening- I was starring at their nose. At the next private oppurtunity I pull them aside and pretend that I just noticed the offense. "You've got a little" *insert the universal signal for get that thing outta there! Don't kill the messenger is an adage quickly brought to mind. Yesterday I found myself in this type of situation; I made the furrowed brow "what is that?" face at my co-worker, with a pinching gesture at the rogue earhair that's been driving me nuts for 30 days. He didn't get it & all I could think was; how universal is this gesture if he doesn't know it...Then I thought maybe it was a familial shorthand, an obsession 4 generations in the mating. Needless to say I gave up on that hair, but only after multiple failed attempts. Hubby says if it doesn't bother them it shouldn't bother me. HA!
Alternatively, I want people to tell me when something has gone horribly array. If I were to arrive at my Momma or BFF's with my fly down, burrs stuck to my shirt and in my hair, dark flapping booger hanging from my nose, white bread mush glued between my teeth and giant eye gunk- they would laugh first; ask me how my night was; then get to work at reno-ing this fixer-upper. As for most other people? I am pretty sure they would let you walk around in that state, assuming it was either a purposeful decision to be a disaster or I was too far gone already to be helped by a Kleenex and some floss. Either way I will keep worrying about you and your fixable flaws and worrying about how you're gonna react, so there's that:)
You can pick your nose and you can pick your friends, but you cant pick your friend's nose hairs; your brother's on the other hand that's a different story. Buddy-boy, I know you won't read this, but thanks for pre-approving my telling it:) His actual words being; "I won't read it, so whatever." My brother and I are very similar, though he thinks I am some sort of Golden Child, which is a lot of pressure, cuz I don't like to disappoint, and being the golden child, I am waiting for Eddie Murphy and the "I-ee-i-i-I want the knife". If you see us together, you can tell we're related. We laugh at our own jokes, we laugh before we've even told a joke. We're awesome. You know, we're awesome because we say so. It's a family thing.
Now, Buddy-boy is a tradesman. He works all day with wood and paint and hammers. He breathes in dirt and dust and indignation. He's supposed to wear a mask, but chooses not to. And I think it's for the same reason as I don't like wearing them, they make talking hard. Talking- well, ranting, that's another a family thing. How would the world survive without hearing what we've got to say- luckily, you'll never know, cuz we won't shut up.*insert knowing head nod. So, no mask means- his natural filter- his nose holes, are working OT. (It's unpaid OT as they are contracted under special Ontario Trades apprenticeship program) That being said- I think you can understand where I'm going with this... His nostrils are brimming with rogues- it's like an upside down vase with fuzzy stems poking out. It's amazing.
When he arrived at my house, looming over me, all I could see was nose hair. I was deaf to his words, in my mind what he was saying was: "Hey, sis, you should pluck this. I want you to get rid of them. Please, you're my only hope" What he was actually saying was he's falling in love, which is scary for him but I know it's really wicked! So, before I missed any other important information I stopped him. "Can I get those for you?" Pointing to his schnoze. "Pretty please? You'll look so much, well, less hairy. When your nose hairs start migrating to beard hairs... it's time to take them out." His answer? A resounding "NO!" suddenly Hubby chimes in, "You'd better just let her do it. She won't stop until they're gone". I turn to Hubby smiling, he gets me, he really gets me:) Finally, Buddy-boy agrees. I leap from my seat and reach for the tweezers (which there's a pair in every room and my purse) and a kleenex. Going straight to work, worried he'll change his mind. Buddy-boy tearing up and laughing at the same time. He knows that beauty is pain, just ask his 27 tattoos or piercings and mohawk. Having pulled 6 hairs- one of which I am pretty sure was attached to his brain, he stops me.
"That's good." he says with the matching suppression gesture.
"No, there's only 2 more." I whine,
"No, it's good." Recognizing the tone of his voice as the one that he typically uses before the Green light (green light means all systems Go! No holding back), I restrain myself.
I know that too much of a good thing can be painful, like those Big Gulp slushies no one can ever finish. Having nearly completed my mission, I am nearly satisfied that I will be sending him out into the City like the awesome dude he says he is (and actually is most days). I think for X-mas, I will get him an industrial face hole trimmer, or I'll just invite him over for a spa day with his fav Golden girl, which would actually be like a gift for both of us:)
This next story is a secret, so I changed the names, the location and everything but myself.
Once upon a time there was a background performer named Melicious. I work on film sets, commercials and tv shows. Though I am just a measly little extra, I am determined to make every experience on set a good one. So I pitch in, tidying wardrobe and fixing hair. Desiring each project to be as great as it can be. Sometimes, I meet famous people. National figures, actors, musicians and directors- cool people. Sometimes, I get to spend time with them face to face and when that's the case it's very close. (For those of you who don't know a whole lot about the film world, there is usually 10 people on set at any given time; say a wardrobe person, 5 lighting guys, hair and make up, assistant directors etc, to help keep shooting on time and looking good) This past weekend little Melicious was working with a very special woman- to remain nameless (as I signed a confidentiality agreement, not because I am not dying to tell you who it is) as I sit across the cafe table from her I notice a hair on her blouse. It's a white blouse and a black hair, so I make the international sign for "Hey you've got a little something- right there" which she doesn't understand and asks me to "get it", so I do with a sweeping gesture. Happy with myself I sit back down to get this scene in the can (film term for finished). Action! The director starts calling out directions on how she says things, how fast she says it, where the emphasis should be....ad nauseum. As we are shooting, she turns her head and I see a hair sticking off of her lower left cheek. Oh no! A black hair stuck to a light face. A black hair- dancing in the oscillating fan's breeze, taunting me...The director finally yells Cut and I make another gesture "Hey, there is a giant black hair stuck to your lower cheek, it's right there...Please get it!" to which again she doesn't understand and gestures for me to get it. So I do. It's attached*insert rueful head shake. This giant black 2 inch cheek hair has been attached to her face all day. They have been shooting since 6:30 am and it's now the last scene of the day and I am the first to discover this? You gotta be kidding, the hair person didn't see it? The makeup person didn't see it? The camera operator? The 10 people staring at the monitor DIDN'T see it? WTF! Holy Miley- you gotta be kidding. Me! Melicious, I am the one who tries to prune this Super high profile woman's face fern? It's not in my job description and we both know it, and now I have to sit here, for the rest of the day knowing that I tried to pull a hair off her face and it's still there. That taunting SOB, Roddamn it! It's hard to lower your profile, once you've become the failed face plucker. Sad, stupid little extra- keep your hands to yourself!
So that's my true, but unprovable story. I think it is finally time that I take my Hubby's advice: Stop plucking people's hairs- ear, cheek or nose. And I've tried but I just can't. It is a horrible addiction. And I mean honestly, wouldn't you rather know that you have a column of hair growing from your face? The one part of you that is literally facing forward? How are we going to think you can take care of anything... if you can't take care of your follicle farce?
My day is separated into capsules of time; 20 mins to shower, 15 mins to do my make up, 40 mins to choose what to wear. Then there is the never ending list of things that no matter how often you do or for how long, you have to keep doing over and over and over. For example....Laundry. If life had a top ten list of things that don't stop until you do (meaning when you croak), it might look like this.
1. Making the bed- every time you get out of it, it needs to be made again. And washed- folded, flipped, and so on.
2. Sweeping/Mopping/Swiffering- Just cleaning the damn floor, cause you're always walking on it, making it dirty again, finding tumble weeds of fur that have been driven into corners by the flow of traffic and spills from moving a hot pot too quickly into the sink
3. Walking the dog/cleaning the kitty litter/pooh-duty- HA I said duty (oh wait, that joke doesn't work when you're reading it *insert sigh & shrug)
4.Dishes- including but not limited to all the pots and pans you cooked with and the plates and silverware you ate off of. And would you just wash that glass that's been beside the bed for the last 2 days? It has dust floating in it.
5. Groceries- if you want something to make your dishes dirty you need to go out and get groceries, carry them home, cut or chop, clean and store. Make room in the fridge, cupboards and on shelves, don't forget that organizing can help your digestive system!
6. Bills, taxes, receipts and just general bookkeeping and life management. If you want to know how you're doing life-wise, this is a good place to start and keep up with, cause people will hound you for $17. 86 (FED EX, I'm talking to you)
7. The Bathroom- clean, sanitize, polish and scrub. This room is always getting used by bums and naked bodies. It's important to clean it often and well.
8. Laundry- Clothes, towels, sheets and whatever else needs to be de-grossed, de-haired or just freshened up. A light, fresh, clean scent creates an air of country in the city.
9. Swiffer- Before I even get to number 10 it's time to Swiffer again, I mean Jilly and Lucy are eager for a little sister I guess. A baby Dat or Cog...I haven't decided, unless I just start knitting a fur sweater, which would be ecologically responsible, but really creepy.
10. Myself- I need showers and shaves and scrubs and de-fur-ing and plucking and tweezing and clipping and shaping and stretching and warming ad nauseam, though I do consider myself a pretty clean person. (Ironic emphasis on Pretty*wink)
Life is an ongoing holding pattern of mundane activities, but the one thing that isn't mundane is life....Wha? That sounds very Zen of me. I am always surprised to find myself happy with the little things, but I would be happiest if I didn't have to keep SWIFFERING!
After a weekend spent plucking and prodding and picking people to pay the bills- I realized that I have a serious addiction to the grosser things ON life. I truly relish finding and plucking that stray earhair blowing gracefully in the winter breeze. It has gone too long unnoticed under that hat, masquerading as part of your flowing locks. Growing for MONTHS to reach such lengths transforming into a curly, one might even say coarse fiber, diverting precious nourishment from your other follicles. Sadly, It- no, you know something of this magnitude deserves a name, shall we say Clancy, heretofore we will refer to your earhair as Clancy. Clancy has reached the end of his "short" life, but this won't be a simple pluck and run. I tenderly grasp Clancy with my trusted tweezers, then tug gently, exclaiming in false awe "Oh, it's attached!" - YEAH he is and he's amazing, an incredible achievement, the diameter of this bristle gently rolling between the tines of my tweezers. You exclaim with embarrassment- "Get it!" and of couse I will, because I love Clancy! I grasp this conifer in preparation of true extraction. Breathing deeply and with one smooth motion and a sigh of gratitude I unroot this truly magnificent specimen. As Clancy remains in the strangle hold of my tweezers, I absorb all his glimmering glory, he is a testament that Darwin wasn't far off; that Man and Monkey share an ear-ily similar genetic make-up.
RIP Clancy, you might not be missed, but I think I saw your cousin on my neighbour's ear...
|
RSS Feed