Where Going Green Does Not Belong

WARNING!  The following contains graphic and disturbing mental images.  Reader discretion is advised.

An overweight, middle aged guy with hairy feet has a severe case of unsightly fungus.  The fungus is invading, overwhelming, and conquering his toes and he's wearing green toenail polish for St. Patrick’s Day.

I’m sorry you had to read that last sentence.  Although I didn't see it, I’m sure that’s what it had to look like.  A guy with a hairy foot or athlete's foot?  No problem.  But a dude with green toenail polish?  Now we've got a problem.

It all started when I was at the copy machine at work yesterday … uh, you know, working.  Well, the lid on the copier was open while I was making my copies and I mentioned to a co-worker that I was getting a nice tan.  I only received a courtesy laugh for that comment so I decided to up the ante.  I told her that the reason I have six toes is from leaving the lid open while I make copies.  Now that line got the intended response and an outbreak of laughter ensued.

I only wish the conversation had ended there.  Unfortunately, my co-worker decided to invite me into her personal life.  Scary.  I wondered if perhaps she too had six toes and was offended with my comment.  I think if she did have six toes it would’ve been easier for me to accept then what she was about to tell me.  And I suppose it was my fault for looking like I cared when I really just wanted to finish my copies and get outta there.  I mean, I’m a guy … and guys don’t care.  (Man code #32)

I know I screamed in terror on the inside and may have even let out an audible gasp as she proceeded to rat out her husband and what he did for St. Patrick’s day … he painted his toenails green.  (I actually had trouble typing that last sentence because it’s so disturbing.)  I froze motionless at the copier wanting to miraculously teleport back to the sanctuary of my office.  Sadly, when I opened my eyes, I was still standing at the copy machine and still listening to the now awkward silence.

Look, I’m not judging … wait, who am I kidding?  Yes, I am judging.  No man should ever wear toenail polish.  EVER!  And St. Patrick’s Day is no excuse.  Gentlemen, I will state the obvious, on St. Patrick’s Day you wear a green shirt or man-up to the consequences be they a punch, a pinch, or even water boarding.

Give me unpolished toenails ... or give me death.  (Man code #19)

Shaving Cream Madness

Mind if I lie on the couch here and tell you all about it?  It was humiliating and I am ashamed.  Yesterday morning I ran out of shaving cream.  Carrie kindly offered one of her twenty-three shaving cream containers that she keeps on hand for … well, I actually don’t know why she has that many.  Some people hoard food for the end of the world as we know it, but Carrie, evidently, stocks up on shaving cream.

Her first attempt to help me with my shaving cream crisis was to hand me a pink colored, estrogen reeking, floral printed, girl power contraption.  NO WAY TO THAT!  I coiled back refusing to even touch it.  As one would expect, I think my hairy chest became even hairier with my defiance.  What was unexpected, was my loving wife’s clearly offended reaction to my extremely reasonable, yet firm, dude of all dude’s position on this critical matter.

Carrie was relentless (Kevin’s quick note:  To be clear, it was definitely relentless and not nagging.  Yeah, never nagging.)  So, she returned to her inventory stockpile and, moments later, charged back to the battle armed with a baby blue colored shaving cream container.  Her eyes looked to be welling up as she presented me with her gift.  It was extremely thoughtful and caring.  She did go through a lot of trouble.  And, it was blue.  Baby blue, but still, it had blue and therefore can pass for manly, right?

I accepted her gift yesterday, but it would be this morning before I put it to use.  Did I mention yet that what I am about to share is humiliating and that I am ashamed?  Oh, and by the way, this couch is very comfortable.

I was home alone with the blue container in my right hand as I began to dispense the foaming content into my left hand.  What I saw next was utterly shocking.  Pink!  The foaming content was pink.  Yes, it was pink.  Pink, pink, pink.  And it was touching my hand.  I just stared at it … helplessly.  I was trapped.  What do I do now?  Well, I did the unthinkable.  I cringed and spread that stuff on my face.  I looked at my reflection in the mirror and saw a once proud man wearing pink shaving cream staring back at me.  The trauma I experienced was unbearable.  I had to look in the mirror at my miserable self for 83 seconds while I shaved it away.

It is now over, but that disturbing image of me keeps flashing back in my mind.  It won’t go away.

I will never, never-ever, allow that to happen to me again.  Today, I am buying twenty-four shaving cream containers to keep on hand.  I plan on being at CostCo today when it opens.  Oh, and if I see you there, can we talk about the weather?  I hear it’s supposed to rain.