My daughter and I were in the computer room in our home. I can’t remember exactly what we were doing. Sampling music maybe, or watching the latest video of the moment. Her mother appeared at the door having just showered. She was wrapped in a towel and she turned sideways, lifted her arm above her head and asked us, “do I have a big cut?” We looked and I replied, “a big what?”
Our daughter started to giggle and asecond later my wife dropped her arm in disgust and said, “I don’t even know why I talk to you assholes.”
I’m glad I don’t have to shave my armpits. That would be a serious pain in the ass. I actually have difficulty with the most basic of body care according to my wife and daughter. They cite examples of my adjudged incompetence each time I protest that I seemed to stay clean and groomed before their arrival into my life.
I trimmed my eyelashes once and I’ve never heard the end of it. They (my eyelashes) were rubbing against my sunglasses. They would get bent over and obscure my vision and it was pissing me off so I cut them. The cutting process was more difficult than I thought. For starters, I though that the eyelash curler thing that my wife has would secure the lashes and all I’d have to do was trim along the edge of the clamp with the little scissors that were conveniently near by. Turns out that to attach the clamp you need to sort of turn it upside down and then it’s facing the wrong way. So, I had to cut them freehand. It’s harder to do than it sounds. My eye kept blinking reflexively and it was hard to tell exactly how much I was cutting because I was too close to the mirror and I could only really see out of one eye. So, I went and got my sunglasses and just kept cutting and trying on the glasses until they didn’t rub on the lens anymore.
Apparently that was stupid.
Like just about everyone else in Canada, I get dry skin from October until March. Each winter I get the same lecture about hydrating after I shower. I thought that showering was hydrating, but have been educated to understand that hydration actually means applying a moisturizing lotion to your entire body after you’re finished showering. I don’t even dry myself off completely so I’m pretty certain that I don’t have the discipline to coat myself in lotion. Sometimes though, my face gets unbearably dry and I need to use some kind of product. I always get it in my fucking eyes and it burns. Plus, if it will eventually soak in then I don’t understand why it all needs to be rubbed in. If I keep moving it around it’s only a matter of time before it gets in my eyes. It burns, remember?
The inability to apply lotion to one’s face without getting it in your eyes? Also stupid.
I use soap. However, I only use one bar. I’m constantly hassled about not having a dedicated soap for my face. I’m giving it some thought lately after my daughter pointed out that I wash my ass and face with the same soap and that it’s inevitable that poop molecules will make their way to my mouth. I’d just like to wash myself without the whole process being so complicated and I could have done without the poop molecule visual.
We must have hundreds of containers in our home that are dedicated to women’s hair and skin care. We probably have about an equal number of shoes and boots, and both footwear and body balms are situationally appropriate. I think that’s why we have so many. We also have q-tips. I don’t understand why. You’re advised right on the box to not put them in your ears so I have no idea what they get used for. But, I also have little or no idea what the end use is for the myriad of artfully shaped, eyecatching plastic containers that fill the shelves and drawers of two and a half bathrooms in our house, so I don’t stress over the mystery of q-tips too much.
If I had curly hair I wouldn’t straighten it unless I was trying to assume a new identity. If I had straight hair I wouldn’t try to curl it unless I was trying to assume a new identity. It seems like a lot of work to me and I can’t see how it’s good for your hair to heat it up like that every morning. I’m pretty certain that I would burn my face with the heated implement and then I’d have to put some other kind of lotion on my skin. Hopefully the burn wouldn’t be too near to my eyes.
I learned about hair straighteners when they got added to curling irons as devices I had to search for after a phone call from work wondering if they had been turned off. Most of the newer models shut off by themselves but apparently you can never be certain and so I’m thinking the phone calls will likely continue. Still, it seems strange to me that the same person would have both a straightening and curling iron.
I do wear cologne. Not all the time, but most days I spray a small amount on my chest. The boy perfume that was selected for me is called Armani Code. I have grown used to it’s smell and can’t understand why I would want to change. But, each time I accompany the ladies to Shoppers Drug Mart or the Bay I’m expected to go to the array of samples and look for a new Italian or Frenchman. I’m happy with my Italian. Why the fuck are we smelling the French guy? Besides, after a whiff of Giorgio followed by a dash of Yves, I’m rendered incapable of telling the difference between the rest of the Paco’s, Dior’s or Givenchy’s.
Women seem to have refined the skill of olfactory recognition to a much higher level than most men. I was walking to a meeting in our offices one morning. As I passed one of my female co-workers, she looked at me and without breaking stride said simply, “Armani Code.”
Impressive.
I can tell the difference between cinnamon and sewage but wouldn’t have a hope in hell of identifying a woman’s perfume. I’m thinking there must be thousands of varieties. Every celebrity of any value has their own signature scent and the differences between one brand or the other are just a slight variation in a chemist’s lab. There likely isn’t anything left on the planet that we haven’t smelled or mixed with something else and smelled, so it looks like natural is a thing of the past for bottled scent descriptions.
Cutting finger and toenails is agiant pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t opted for curled up three inch discolored reptilian toenails. I’m just saying the process would be better with a small grinder rather than clippers. Because I usually cut one, and sometimes two, foot or finger nails too close. That error leads to an inordinate amount of discomfort for so small a misjudgement in my opinion. I also think that anyone who cuts their nails in the house invariably loses a complete or partial cutting after it breaks away from the clipper and disappears somewhere unfindable. The speed that nail cutting travels is impressive enough that a person should probably wear eye protection just like when you weed whip. But, where does the shard of nail go? Most bathrooms have flooring or tile that provides very good camouflage for the offending fragment.I think that eventually the nail ends up imbedded in someone else’s foot or sock and they take it home with them.
I don’t always use deodorant. My wife would tell me in a heartbeat if I smell bad and so far all I’ve heard from her is that I was fortunate genetically but that it was still gross. But, I have known people that can get out of a shower and smell of body odor before they even managed to dry off. I’m glad that enough products exist to mask the smell of humanity and I’ll take the hundreds of containers over the aroma of the herd any day or night.