Hi. You probably don't remember me. I'm guessing you see a shitload of guys like me every day. No worries - I certainly don't blame you for that. Let's be honest, I'm not that memorable. Anyway, I came in a couple of days ago for that treadmill test thing. You asked me to take off my shirt, took one look at me and said, "Yeah, we're gonna have to shave you down".

I was cool with that. I really was. A couple of weeks ago, your ER cohort didn't even consider it. She simply parted the hair and stuck that electrode deal right on there. Of course, when she went to rip it off six hours later, it stung like a bitch. Seriouly, she pulled that fucker away, and took out a serious chunk of hair, and possibly skin, with it.  That was actually more painful than the non-heart-attack. Believe me, as a balding guy, having hair ripped out from any part of my body causes me sadness. I can't be ripping out hair willy-nilly. I need to keep what little I have.  

So, yeah, I was fine with the shaving aspect. In fact, I was somewhat curious what I would look like smooth-chested. The last time I had a smooth, hairless chest, Ronald Regan was president and "Another One Bites the Dust" was riding the top of the charts.  I admit, I was curious.

What I wasn't prepared for were the five squares you decided to carve into my chest hair.

Here I was, all set to be smooth chested, and now I look like a chess board. At the very least, I now look like I have a bad case of mange. I realize you only needed enough real estate to attach the doo-dads (and yes, that is a medical equipment term. Ask Blevins, he'll tell you), but now I'm all asymetrical and patchy. For a brief second, I considered finishing up the job when I got home, but then that begged the question: once you start, where do you stop? I'm not much of a manscaper, so I really don't know. Do you take it all off, do you leave a little treasure trail, or do you keep on going until you hit the floor? I have to be honest, I'm not real comfortable with the possibility of freshly-shorn junk. I know there are those that do it, and good for them, godspeed, but me? I think it's a little creepy. I don't need to be reminded what I looked like the last time I took a bath in the kitchen sink. I know it's all the rage for females to look like a pre-pubescent 13-year-old, but it just doesn't work for me. I think you need a little something down there if for no other reason than traction. Let me tell you, mix all that slipping and sliding with a smooth surface, and the next thing you know, you're plastered up against the window, legs splayed, nursing a broken hip. I'm not saying you need to look like a centerfold from a 1973 issue of Hustler or anything, but just leave enough to make me sure I'm not going to be pulling a Polanski.

If you just do your chest, do you then have to do your back (take it easy - I don't have an overly hairy back. I'm not Ed Asner or Jamie Farr, for godssake. It's just a question)? What's the protocol there? That would look odd - bare front, wooly back. It would look like you were wearing half a sweater.

I know, I know, What about the Itching, Shel? Well, here's the deal. I'm already itching. Right now, I'm itching in five seperate places. If I'm going to itch, I want to ITCH, and itch everywhere. I still have hair sticking out of the top of my shirt, so as far as everyone I work with knows, everything is normal. I must just have a nasty case of scabies or jungle rot. At least, if I didn't have that tuft of hair peeking through, people would ask what was wrong, and I could just pull down the edge of my shirt, and they could see things are different. Now, I'm going to have to untuck and completely unbutton. The fact that people will look at me as if I were one of those homeless dogs you see hanging around dumps will be pretty tough to take. All I need is a pan of beans and one of those big metal trash bins to start a fire in to make the image complete.

So, thanks for the shave, but really, you should have just gone for it. I have to go now.

Patch #4 is itching like a madman.