Friday, February 03, 2006

The Hirsute of Happiness

Every year, a lot of my old friends in New Jersey would congregate in Beach Haven for our annual "Big Chill" party. I would come up from Florida. We always had great times and I am filled with fond memories of our 'down the shore' events.

One year, in particular, my old buddy Frank and his then wife Suzanne showed up, as they always did. This year, Frank was in a bit of pain. I've known Frank for pretty much 30 some years now, and I must say he's about the hairiest guy I know. You know, the kind of hair that comes up above the collar of your shirt. He's got more on his back than I've ever had on my head. Yes, I did have hair up there once. Anyway, I'm sure Frank's back hair is a lot grayer now.

This one summer, Suzanne decided she didn't really like running her fingers through Frank's sexy back hair. It just wasn't stimulating to her any more, I guess. I think she thought it scared small children away - maybe kids were always throwing bananas at him, like they were at the zoo or something. She decided she was going to Nair him. That depilatory stuff. I guess it did a really fine job. The only problem was, they didn't think about ingrown hairs.

When they arrived, Suzanne was driving, not that there's anything unusual about that, but, Frank liked to do the long distance trips. They only lived a couple of hours away, but, it was usually him. We all greeted them as they parked.

"Frank! Suzanne! Great to see you!"

"Ow, ow, ow," he exclaimed as he tried to sidle himself out of the passenger seat.

He explained what Suzanne had done and the terrible pain he was in. "I couldn't sit back in my seat the whole trip down. You should see all these zitty looking things all over my back. The pain is terrible! Here, look..."

"NO, NO, NO, Frank. YUCK. We don't want to look at your ugly back!" I think we all yelled that. Good thing we stopped him. He showed me later on and it was bad.

The whole time, Frank was a hurting cowboy. When we went to the beach, he didn't remove his shirt. He couldn't sit back and the only way he could lie down was on his belly. Boy, grown men can whine a lot.

They started to tell us about other areas of his body she had experimented on, but, we won't go into that. I think he might have taken on the appearance of a ten year old boy in one particular region. We didn't want to know. You think he might have learned his lesson. Maybe, ingrown hairs don't grow down there, but it had to have been a sight to see, hair everywhere else but that one small, tiny, wee, little spot. Not to mention what the plumber must have charged to unclog their drain.

Poor Frank. It took him months to get back to normal. Nair-do-well. I think that's what we called him that summer.

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