Getting over yourself

I love my-dad's-good-friend (MDGF) A. They have been friends since nursery, i.e. for almost 3/4 of a century. A's most endearing attribute is shyness. In particular when, as he often does, he shares his experiences.

We met a while back and I noticed something was different. Couldn't put my finger on it so I asked. "Oh", A said smiling, "I got rid of my comb-over". Not something people usually talk about. Few things are more embarrassing than a comb-over. "You see", A continued, "I realised I was a slave to those 5 hairs I streched across my head to pretend I am still young. When travelling, they had their own toiletries bag; I had two special combs and 3 types of gel just for them! Giving up on them liberated me. I am a free man now."

At the time, I had a good laugh. It was only recently, however, that I actually understood what MDGF actually meant.

You see, I have this small, almost imperceptible birth mark on my face. You wouldn't notice it. The thing is, it has a slight growth. Now, for those of you who've seen me in the last couple of years, you will have noticed that I wear a manly 3-day shave. More honestly though, it is what most people will consider teenage-stubble. Unfortunately, however, the birth-mark is inconveniently situated outside the stubble-zone. No one else notices it, but for me it is a big issue. I have to shave it. In fact, it is the only reason I own a razor. Two razors in fact. One for home and one for travel.

Anyhow, last week I followed A's example, got over my vanity and decided that there are worse things than a few misplaced hairs. And like A, I was liberated. No longer having to wonder if the "growth" needs attending to or carrying a razor on my travels. It's only a shame I don't have A's story-telling talents nor his gift for self-deprecation.

PS 800km down. 200km to go.