My mustache has been giving me fits for a few months now. I could almost eat, but I was finding food in my mustache with disturbing regularity. Drinking, however, which I do even more than eating wasn't working. A cascade of liquid - water, not so bad; coffee, worse; half and half or whipping cream, worst - would drain off my mustache onto my obligatory hoodie.
In frustration I thought to hack the growth off my face.
But, who would recognize me? To each his own, yes, and to me it would be worse to stride across the Monaco Health Club floor once a year and have nobody recognize me as the guy with the lightning 500 meter row than to have half a pint of cream on my hoodie every day.
So I thought to simply trim the beast.
But where to start? I looked in a mirror and could make no sense of what hair should remain, what should go, and even where some of it originated anyway.
When I had my shoulder MRI, the doctor suspected a torn labrum. In order to make an accurate diagnosis, the radiologist shot some sort of dye into my shoulder capsule, so that imaging would show it either contained or leaking through the labrum. The MRI turned out objectively good, which is for another blog, and it gave me a great idea.
This morning I had six scrambled eggs for breakfast, and I put on two or three times my usual amount of Louisiana Hot Sauce.
I went to the mirror and just cut off everything that was red.
No comments:
Post a Comment