I hate it when all that fuzz starts growing out of my ears. It looks awful and makes me look like an old man. I happened to notice it this morning on my way to a weekly meeting when I was in the bathroom washing my hands in front of the mirror. Oh no not again and so quickly. Kind of like when you used to have that really important date and you noticed there was this big ugly pimple on the tip of your nose. Now this fuzzy growth is bad enough, but combined with the growth coming out of my nostrils I feel like some kind of walrus. I have always told Thea that if I ever end up as a demented patient in some elderly home surrounded by all those other Dutchies, if there is only one thing she should not forget, that is to trim my ear and nose hairs for me. Before it is too late. If there is no one around to take the responsibility of this chore, then I will look like an overgrown brush or bush or whatever. Not that I would really notice it if indeed I were demented, it is just the idea. Would there be so many visitors who would even notice? What would my children think? Would I have any visitors at all? With my wet forefinger I gently pushed and poked the fuzzy growth back into the right and left orifices where it belonged hoping that it would not be too obvious when I sat down at the table to discuss progress of more important projects. Slowly but surely the individual hairs would spring back to life anyway, as the tamped down wetness evaporated and the hairs dried, and in the long run poke their fun at me. Those hairs. Time to trim them again before I go to bed if I can remember such an important chore. Kind of like mowing the lawn I guess.