I wrote a couple of weeks ago about how I’m so sick of shaving. It started out as this kind of played-out, whining diatribe (I’m not even sure what diatribe means exactly, I just have a feeling that it fits here) about not wanting to conform, even though I do every single day. About not wanting to be the grown up that I see when I look in the mirror every ten minutes or so (I’m very handsome.)
But what started out as a shallow attempt at humor, it grew inside, it struck something deep, a little deeper, not too deep, I’m not sure there’s anything that deep. But slightly deeper than I’m used to delving. No, I don’t like shaving. And why should I? Why should I shave every day?
And I also hate taking a shower. Why do I have to clean myself off every day? Sometimes more? Sometimes I’ll get up, take a shower, go to work for a few hours, then I’ll come home and go for a run. Now, what, I have to shower again? Twice in one day? And I just do it. Why? Because I’m programmed, man, I’m totally brainwashed.
You know what else I can’t stand? Brushing my teeth. Why? You get up every day and you have to floss, and the toothbrushes I grew up with, they don’t even cut it anymore. I go the dentist and he’s like, “Rob, you simply have to buy an electric toothbrush! And make sure you’re spending at least two hundred dollars! I insist! Oh, and also, you have to buy special toothpaste, the Sensodyne, the stuff that costs three times the amount as Colgate and Crest. And did you think once a year is all your going to have to spend here? Ha! Twice a year! Come in for a cleaning. Have my hygienist brush your teeth. Three times a year. Just stop by every day before work and my hygienist’s assistant will help you rinse the correct way with Listerine. But not just any Listerine. The special kind, the kind only sold to dentists.”
I’m done. Get me out of this program. Oh yeah, sit there and judge me. Sit there and imagine how bad my breath is going to be. Well maybe humans aren’t meant to be standing this close to each other. I have a loud voice. There’s no reason why you and I should ever be standing less than five feet apart anyway. I can hear you just fine. And besides, now that you’ve got me going, we all have cell phones. Let’s make it ten feet. Fifteen feet. No way am I ever spending any more money on toothpaste, on toothbrush heads. What a rip-off. Did you know you get the same effects as brushing your teeth by eating an apple? I don’t know, I heard some guy on some bus one time saying that, I think. It doesn’t matter.
And clothes. I’m so sick of getting dressed everyday. Sure we’ll need something in the wintertime. Why can’t we all just where robes or sheets? Why do I spend so much time washing my clothes, making sure my pants are ironed? Why? And I have to wear a tie? Seriously? You’re telling me that, as a species, we’ve all gotten together and decided that to look formal, we’ve got to hang a stupid piece of fabric around our necks? What purpose does it serve? It’s ridiculous.
I’m not wearing anything anymore. Underwear. Socks. I’m so sick of it. Go ahead and lock me up. Indecent exposure? This is how I look naturally. If we were living twenty thousand years ago, this is how we’d all look. If you and I were standing around somewhere that long ago, and you came up to me and said, “Hey Rob, your shirt looks kind of dirty,” I’d say, “What shirt? And what are you talking about? What are these noises you’re making? Nobody’s invented language yet.” And then I’d pick up a giant rock and bash your brains out. Not because I’m violent. I’m not. It’s just that, that’s how things got done back then. Nobody knew any better. Don’t take it personally. Well, as the reader, take the whole dirty shirt thing personally, as in, don’t tell me how to dress, or to get dressed, or to retie my tie, or to get my slacks pressed, or to shave, or to wipe all of that food off of the corners of my mouth, or to brush my teeth, or to get a haircut. I’m done with all of this nonsense.