Greetings readers, 3xl here again with another rather skewed look at life and all things sacred, secular, mundane and maddening. Since Garrison Keillor took a week off his column, I thought that someone should step up and save the day. So here I am.
I was talking with passion one and some friends today and the subject of male facial hair came up. I am not an overly hirsute gentleman but I do have a bit of hair on the old visage and I have in recent days as part of a transition time decided to try something else with my beard and hair.
I have begun to grow them a little longer and in keeping with my bad boy biker and muso image I may shape or braid or do whatever with them, though I have as yet, not decided. The very mention of some of these options sent passion one in to paroxysms of defiant complaining and calls of no no, do not do it.
I wondered what all the fuss was about and then I realized. This hair thing, adornment, metrosexuality or whatever, was actually a sacred place of female domain, a shrine to their beauty and place of power and clearly this was a crossing over on my part into their turf and thrall. I realised that all this perming, moosing,gelling, curl up and dyeing was actually a point of independence for women. It was their way of expressing their independence from the over bearing unfeeling male dominance that they had long suffered under. They were not just adorning, they were sticking it to the man!!
That hundred dollars you would not let her spend on chifon drapes seemed to be an easy victory until ....boom ! She returns from her hair appointment with a multiple foil with straightening and up do, highlights, low lights and a few imbetween lights. That all in essence spells lights out on your deceptively easily won drape battle. What you kept off the wall ended up on her head and the wife carves another notch on her hairbrush.
I know what you are thinking, this guys had too many wheaties in his hyper-bole, but look, even her hairdresser is from Russia, so what do you expect from those revolutionary types but sedition, class struggle and extortionate hair dos.
So I found a way to take back that ground and declare my independence. I have stormed the beaches and taken the ramparts of their female hegemony and autocracy over hair and I am striking a blow for the Shawns and the Buzzes of life who have been so long repressed by the tyranny of women over their facial hair. Hands off my body you hair baronesess, you hirsute haridans.
It is coming out and there is nothing you can do about it. Finally those bristles can peek out of that closeted chin they have so long hidden in, without fear of the blade or the scissors. Show your bearded pride and curl twist and catch all the food you want. You are free at last.
Yes the hairy men of the world are not just messy lazy slobs who can not be bothered to shave and cut. We are freedom fighters struggling for our rights to male vanity and stickin it to the woman. Care to join us?
