My last few Medicne Hat News columns have revolved around my less than stellar moments and today’s is no exception.
I’ve been sharing some less than proud personal moments the last fourteen days and this week’s revelation is no different as I was reminded of my near miss incident with a bottle of Nair, yes the stinky stuff that will erode body hair, no matter how coarse or thick your manly mane of jungle fur appears to be. Ironically, the lathering of hair removal crème started off with the best of intentions or to be more specific, I was looking to impress the lawdy mama. Being a man, it’s nature’s greatest gift that we know how to operate two items while hunched over in the shower, namely the soap and shampoo. Throw in a pumice stone, a loofa sponge or any bottle that says ‘spring time fresh’ on it and you might as well have us navigating a space shuttle through a garage doggie door in complete darkness while wearing a lamp shade for all the good it will accomplish.
And that’s the tight spot I found myself in during the toweling off phase of my Saturday night shower as I grabbed for what I believed to be skin lotion because it’s my altered opinion that women too, can appreciate a man with soft skin after rummaging through a wall of back and kidney hair. From the confines of the girlfriend’s lavatory I was confronted with no less than two dozen lotions, creams and salves to choose from so I picked a container that had ‘with moisturizer’ typed on it and proceeded to douse my dilapidated temple in the very cool and yet incredibly pungent odor of apparent skin lotion. Now the aroma of said ointment was less than pleasant but since I hadn’t been accustomed to the pitfalls of a woman’s bathroom, my otherwise keen sense of intuition allowed this act of chemical warfare to fly under my radar. And as I combed the pearly whites and applied the normal amount Old Spice to the underarms, this salve like substance worked its evil magic, refusing to absorb into my skin, almost as if my body was rejecting the now horrible stench that had been self slathered onto every limb and digit I owned. I repeat, every limb and digit I owned.
Now the microwave was invented by mistake and for a solid thirty seconds, I was positive I too had accidentally stumbled upon a horrific creation as the body hair I had known my entire existence started to drop off like ants after a Raid party. People comment how loud it gets when attending rock concerts but the little girl scream that left my lips would have drowned out the most expensive of speakers as I was convinced I was following in Elvis’ footsteps and it was only a matter of sheer seconds before I’d be face down in the crapper. Fortunately, my better half heard my howls of help and assured me I wasn’t dying; I had merely coated my birthday suit in hair removal lotion. Six to eight months later, most of the hair on my chest, arms, a shoulder and leg have grown back however I’m currently abstaining from the use of any form of skin lotion because I guess you could say I’ve developed a small fear of ‘moisturizers’.
