As I was looking through some old photos I just found, I realized I didn't have chest hair back in 1996. This struck me as odd. Not really the chest hair thing, but the surprising number of photos I have of myself with no shirt on. And this one in particular was taken at church. That's a lie. I was canoeing.

I don't remember when I first got chest hair, but it was apparently after the summer of '96. I guess I really don't pay attention to detail. I would think that the day I started to turn into my dad would have been memorable. Now I am nervous that the hair is just going to begin spreading. Like back hair. Lord no. Please no. I had a roommate in college who had quite the hairy back. He actually asked me if I could help him shave it. I politley declined. And by politely declined, I said, "Dude, you hairy freak, get the fuck away from me with that razor, you gigantic gorilla."

My other roommate was nice enough to do it. It was such a weird sight to see my roommates together in the bathroom, one shaving the other. It will be an image forever burned into my brain. They also picked bugs out of each other's fur. The tragic irony for my roommate was that he was going bald. So here he was, with a back that had more hair than he knew what to do with, and a bright shiny skull with barely a little bit of peach fuzz. But hey, he's married now and hopefully happy. God bless the hairy back bald man that can find a wife. Maybe I should go bald and grow some hair on my back. Only then will I find happiness. We should all be so lucky.