What the pluck

I used to have moments of boredom, in which I would meticulously inspect every nook and cranny of my body that was capable of being inspected by my own two hands. It wouldn't happen that frequently, but occasionally I'd go on a mission to "clean" things up.

Cut the toenails. Clean out the dirt and sock fluff. Use a pumice stone to smooth out the calloused skin. Cut the fingernails. Clean out any dirt, trim any skin that was capable of getting caught and causing tremendous pain. Then onto the facial inspection. Tweeze out any offending hairs, usually sprouting from moles or too far from their nasal origin.

I never really put much thought into it, but lately I hadn't been doing too much tweezing. I was letting things grow naturally, letting things be as they are. If a mole was meant to have a two inch hair wildly growing on my shoulder then so be it! If that one on my chest was meant to have three hairs growing in opposite directions then more power to it!

I must have had a recent moment of boredom. I had a plucking frenzy. I think I nabbed about twenty hairs. Only the untidy ones. The ones that had no rhyme or reason for being where they were. If they didn't fit in that small patch in the middle of my chest or around my nipples, they were eliminated. Sorry guys. I won't miss you. I know I'll see you again trying to sprout through my perfectly manicured lawn and I'll find you and eliminate you like the unruly weeds you are.