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Friday, April 13, 2012

Hair Today. Gone Tomorrow.

I've never been very good at growing facial hair, although every morning when I splash water on my face and pick up a razor I'm tempted to try again.

My hand was forced three weeks ago when I felt the tingle above my top lip.

"Dad's got a coleslaw," the kids will announce when stress or sun or lack of sleep deliver me this evil.

"Well tell Herpe-Boy not to kiss me!" Tracey will call back. She's always very supportive like that.

The last thing you want to do with a cold sore is to shave it, and rather than end up with a Hitlerish monstrosity beneath my nose this time I chose to let my whole face blossom and just trim the jowls. 

Naturally this invited lots of comments from my customers.

"It's not Movember," I was told more than once. I tried to tell them it was Mopril, but most didn't buy it.

By the end of the week the tingle was gone and I was about to shave when a lovely customer, who I really must remember to send a card to this Christmas, commented with the beard coming in I looked a bit like George Clooney. Were they serious? Probably not. I didn't care. But it may not surprise you to learn I didn't shave for another two weeks.

Conversations were a little repetitive after that.

"It looks good on you," a customer would say. 

"Apparently it's very George Clooney," I'd happen to mention, after which they'd laugh: sometimes rudely. Some would be very pro-whiskers, some very against. I can't help but feel the ones who were against it were being more honest.

Still enough customers in need of cataract surgery agreed it looked good so I kept growing the fuzz, even though it was infuriatingly itchy. 

I wasn't even tempted to shave it off after one customer harshly disagreed with the George Clooney comparison, adding, "I'd say it's more George Michael." Fine by me. I figure there's people knocking on both their doors.

No, what finally had me tearing at my face with a couple of blunt razors was when a lady decided, even more than the Georges, I reminded her of an iconic Australian.

Trust me to reject the Rolf Harris look? Sure can.




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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.

 

His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).

 

Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.

 

His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


 

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