I have a hair growing from my ear. It bothers me.
I would understand hairs if it had sprouted from my groin. Or my nose or my bum. But it bothers me because most folks don't closely survey my nether regions.
But not just most folks are want to probe so close or inquire of my errant hair status.
In fact it is a fact that those persons who did in fact cause my body to be so prone upon such inspection, that they ever did survive to tell the tale.
If this were the tale of the tortoise versus the hare then it would be true to say that those who rise early to greet the lark are those who retire early and are afraid of the dark. But I digress.
So I be here to tell the tale of the poison that lurks within and flows for ever alone and stark.
Once upon a time there was a tube of toothpaste. It sat on the shelf in the bathroom of the house I shared with my parents. I had issues unresolved at the time so I must concede it was their home.
It was purchased for a pittance but interest was cheap, so they paid in increments for the company they keep.
But every now and then I needed to empty my bowels. It was a necessity to maintain the body with which I sleep, so I derived some satisfaction from counting colours.
It was a challenge
