Dear George,
How the hell are you?! It's been ... ages. I hope you are well and are enjoying the lovely weather outside. It is a bright and sunny 20*C, the trains are running on time and a first class stamp will cost you 60p... And this morning i made a startling discovery.
Looking in my bathroom mirror this morning I spotted something glinting
amongst my chest hair. Perhaps there was some buried treasure in there. That
would be awesome.
Alas, the glinting was not booty but it came from a slivery hair nestling
amongst the brown. I looked more carefully and spotted two more of the buggers,
all surprisingly long - they'd been there for ages, patiently waiting for me to
notice.
I expect this nonsense from the hair on my head and even in my beard -
they're just showing off because they know people can see them. But my chest is
usually hidden away, only to be unleashed when my wife expressly asks to have a
look at it, so how could my own chest hair betray me.
I dealt ruthlessly with this folic insurrection and plucked out the offenders,
who probably didn't feel so clever for being long now, did they? A few innocent
brown hairs were taken down in the process. In years to come I may regret
removing brown hair needlessly, but for now the browns are the majority and the
whites the persecuted minority. The opposite of what you would expect in this
racist world, right? I am going to write a Planet of the Apes style allegory
about this to show the world that all racism is wrong - apart from when it
comes to hair where dark is good and white is wrong.
But if my chest hair is going grey then where will this end? What will
come next? The move southwards can't continue, can it? You know what I'm
thinking ... Yep, I’m talking about my toe hair. I pride myself on having the
youngest looking toes in the Land. People might look at my face and think, hey
that guys probably about 25, maybe late 20s, but if I ever just poke my bare
feet round the corner of a door people will usually exclaim, "Wow, look at
those youthful digits. If I was going to guess the age of the person attached
to them I would say he or she was 19 maximum." Then I come into the room
and they say, "Gosh, we got that wrong, in fact he is 25, maybe late 20s"
I then say, "Well thanks for the compliment, especially on the toes,
but I am actually 32."
Then the people always say, "No way, that's not possible. You're
clearly wearing some kind of fake toe to make you look younger, a lot of people
are doing that these days, Gwen Stafani does that you know. Well, no one wants
to put their foot around a door and have their age judged wildly too
high." Then they will pull at the toe and see that it is actually
connected to me and probably speculate that I've had some kind of toe
transplant, perhaps I am some kind of foot vampire who goes around at night
cutting off the toes of youthful people and then attaching them to my foot
stump so it looks like my toes are young.
I then point out that that is quite an unlikely scenario, that surely
there would be some scarring and also newspaper reports of people losing their
toes in bizarre nocturnal situations and isn't the more likely scenario that I
have just looked after my toes and kept them looking young.
They eventually concede that it is more likely, but are not going to
commit themselves 100% to that theory in case the toe vampire thing transpires
to be true.
An uneasy truce is made, I put my shoes on and the party continues with
a couple of people at the edge of the room mumbling about why I had chosen to
enter the room in such a bizarre fashion, but I know that they're only acting
like that because they're jealous of my young toes.
So, if my toe hair goes grey, then the jig is up. I can’t dye the hair, you
can always tell when someone has done that. And anyway, in the confines of a
hot shoe the dye would run and even if I wore open-toed sandals then the dye
would get splashed by rain and puddles and also people would think I was a dick
for having open toed sandals (and clearly dyed toe hair!).
I just have to face it, my toe round the door antics are nearly be over.
Once again I am faced with having to accept the concept of ageing. Whilst it
would be cool if God had invented a world where we didn't age, I have to accept
that He did. At least it happens gradually so we have a chance to get used to
it all bit by bit. Which means you can all look forward to me writing about my
pubes going grey later this year…
Take care buddy,
yours,
Little Dave
