Bugs are no problem, when you’re hairy


I need a haircut. As I write, the hairs on the back of my neck are almost long enough to be braided and, uncombed, the top of my head looks like a howler monkey has been nesting on my forehead.


Hopefully by the time you read this, I will no longer have enough hair on my head to stuff a cushion (anyone interested in stuffing their cushions can email me- I can provide you with a cushion’s worth of stuffing every month). And though most men my age start losing their hair- often it will come off in clumps as they shampoo it or brush it in the morning- the hair on my head has, touch wood, no interest in parting with me. It also seems to be spreading, growing, as it does now, between my eyebrows, through my ears, nose and in other inappropriate places.


Human hair is a fascinating material. I have read that it is made of protein and it is as strong as steel. It would be nice if my body could use the protein to build up some attractive pectoral muscles, especially since the summer is coming, but no, it is more interested in using it to produce hair around my bellybutton. No matter.


Some other men have hairy backs (not me). I have known a few who felt so self-conscious that they waxed this hair right off. This sounds like too drastic and too painful a measure to me. Hot wax burns and hurts- I know this from then it has trickled on my hand from church candles. And removing your hair is painful- I avoid using Band-Aids for this reason.


So I must say I admire women for being brave enough to subject themselves to hair removal using hot wax. I also admire them for not passing out during childbirth. What I cannot understand is how women who are so strong and fearless will scream bloody murder whenever they are within shouting distance of a cockroach or wasp (maybe they think the screams will scare the bugs away). I cannot understand how grown women will run away waving their arms like lunatics at the mere buzz of a nearby bee. Women who have survived multiple births and a million waxings will still cower at the sight of a creature so small it could easily hide between the hairs on the back of my neck and not be seen until I finally get a haircut.


Men love bugs because every time one of them makes an appearance, women realise that they need us. We won’t kill them for fun, but it’s nice to feel heroic. You see, we may have hairs growing inside our ears, but we also have yesterday’s newspaper in our hands and we know how to use it.


I think this is what women love most above us. After we rescue them from the evil bloodsucking demonic wasp like they begged us to, they’re willing to overlook that our greying hair is falling off our heads and ending up inside our noses. They just look at us and smile, and say “thank-you” then look up at the sky and mouth “I think I’ll keep him after all”.  


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