Hygiene 

My first apartment was an old house that was converted to a duplex. I rented the upstairs with various roommates for a few years, downstairs was always rented by friends. Tons of fun for twenty year olds. 

One of my many roomies was very into body building at the time. Strict nutrition (except Sunday, that was cheat day and usually involved a pint of ice cream) and daily gym visits were his discipline. He kept all body hair at a minimum to accentuate his definition, and I took painstakingly elaborate steps to rib him about his silky smooth arms and legs. 

Showing up to work wasn’t a strong value for him. His brother frequently woke up the neighborhood looking for the truant, we were friends so I always pretended not to know he was hiding behind the shed after the third phone call on our “landline.”

A landline is a phone wired to the wall. Ask your parents about them. 

I was a party animal. The living room was anchored by a makeshift DJ booth and the walls were wallpapered with 6 pack carriers of Obsidian Stout and New Belgium Abbey that I cut into rectangles and thumbtacked in place. 

Every weekend, and most weeknights, we went out to the bars. Sometimes local and sometimes it was driving across the county. A pattern eventually formed, Monday at Shotzes, Tuesday at that Mukilteo place, the Jet on Wednesday, phinicky thursday… it’s been a few years, I might have mixed up the nights. You get the point. 

Anyway that’s not where I was going. I have a million stories from this apartment, but I’m only sharing one of the better ones today. Better for you, I still flinch thinking of this one. 

We were used to sharing the one bathroom in the apartment and since I was more of the drinker, I usually showered first and then pre-funked until pretty boy was ready. As I’m drying off and brushing my teeth, I notice a new beard trimmer under the counter. I pop on the #2 guard and trim up my goatee. Son of a bitch that looks good. I pop off the guard and quick shave my neck, cheeks and trim the ‘stache.  

As I leave the bathroom and give up the space to ol’ roomie I compliment him on the nice beard trimmer he picked up. Showing off my perfect 2001 post grunge sideburns and goatee look, he started laughing. We’ve had some great times and I know this is a serious laugh. My thoughts are “did I totally lopside the beard?”

It takes a lifetime for his breathing to calm enough to allow any vocalizing to happen. 

“Du du du. Oh guh, du do do”

“Christ, spit it out!”

“Josh, Do you see any facial hair on my face?”

“So what do need th…”

… I bought my own trimmer the next day

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