What Lies Beneath

Every so often, there's the girl who feels obligated to tell me about the benefits of shaving my chest. Usually nothing is said at all, but then comes the occasional complaint about, well, the "shag carpeting," as she called it.

And seeing as how summer has arrived and there's a good chance I'll be in a hot tub or at a beach sooner than I realize, I decided to do her proud. Besides, I'd prefer not to remove my T-shirt and get winces that would make you think I just flashed a bright light in their eyes. The look is kind of like peeling back a bandage to reveal a scab for somebody.

Now, the last time I did this, I remembered how foul this product smelled. (I either didn't realize there was a line for men or it wasn't out when I originally purchased this shit, but ...) And at four minutes, it does indeed work remarkably fast. But boy, I hope she's happy.

Because viewing the results in the mirror made me feel like I had the body of a 12-year-old boy. This is not to mention that I feared the lingering odor—something akin to, say, sewage—was going to make me violently ill.

This bold step forward this afternoon will hopefully inspire me to also give more serious consideration to working out (another suggestion of hers, by the way)—not a full-blown gym membership and strictly-veggie diet; just a few push-ups or sit-ups here and there.

It is not, after all, like I don't have the free time on my hands anymore.