A Close Shave

I now consider myself an older gentleman, although the gentleman part is debatable if not an out & out misnomer. But now that I am so close that I can taste death (or has the milk on my cereal just gone bad?), I find I am comparing myself to similarly aged men in an attempt to determine which one of us will die first. I have a list of questions I ask myself, and most of the time answer unless I’m not speaking to myself which is more often than I would like, that include questions like these …

  • Does he have more hair? Yes is the typical answer.
  • Is he fatter? Yes is thankfully the typical answer?
  • Is he more successful? Yes is sadly always the answer, likely because he didn’t waste his time blogging like someone we know.
  • Is he on prescription meds for pain and can I have some? For this question, I bypass (bad word around most old guys) asking myself and ask them directly. No is the typical answer from most of those selfish old bastards.

Now I have started asking another question. What happened to all their leg hair? I mean, really, all those old guys are looking like they are walking around on plucked drumsticks ready for the deep fryer from the knee on down. Where did all their leg hair go? Are old guys now shaving their legs? It might take me a while to shave my leg forest …

Leg Hair

Or does the leg hair disappear with age? Is the leg hair rubbed off by wearing pants all these years? I always suspected that going pantsless was the right decision.

I like my hairy growth, perhaps because it brings back fond memories of my childhood friend, Harry Groeth. I get fewer mosquito bites on my legs than others do as most mosquitoes are reluctant to hack through the underbrush in order to get to their meal.

I’m hoping someone can enlighten me soon. I’m starting to get uncomfortable about staring at the hairless legs of old, fat, less bald, more successful men who won’t share their pain meds with me.

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