I went to the beach in Sihanoukville Cambodia today. I am waiting to renew my visa so that I may return to my new home, Bangkok Thailand. As I sat on my beach chair staring out at the water watching my skin burn to a warm lobster hue, an old woman approached my friend, offering to use a technique called “threading”, to remove any unwanted hair of hers. Threading involves using a piece of string in a skillful manner to remove large amounts of unwanted body hair. It is more akin to tweezing than it is to waxing, as no additives are used but the masterful touch of the old lady and her string. Whilst my friend scoffed at this offer, the old lady turned her attention to me, letting me know that she could also just as easily remove my unwanted hair, paying particular attention to point out all of my disgusting and unsavory chest hair that surely act as the primary impetus of my perpetual singledom. While I assured her that there must be many ladies who enjoy this scattered mat of fur, her offer unearthed an old and disturbing memory of my sister pointing out how gross my back had become. You see, when a man starts to embark into his more mature years, a number of things happen – in addition to his inability to drink like a sailor in his youth and the need to run to the toilet in the middle of the night, he also notices a grand migration of all sorts of his body hair. Most notably a thinning on the roof, and a new rebirth of his lost friends on random places at different locations all over his body. This is the primary reason that men and women of yesteryear hurried to marry in their early twenties, before such heinous migrations take place and they become unattractive and completely unlovable.
So, after a long haggle – and by haggle I mean her starting at 12 and me calming staying at 5 – we reached an agreement for her to remove the new denizens of my back. And like a Buddhist master, her art work unfolded as she began plucking my back with such a fervor that my
girlish yelp manly war cry rang down the beach like a bugle call, warning all fellow men of the dangers of Cambodian women with string.
It took a mere 25 minutes, but my back is now as silky smooth as any 15 year old Asian boy. In Thailand I maybe known as Dances with Elephants who relies on his Zac Efron hair style to hopefully win him a future girlfriend, but in Cambodia I am known by an entirely different moniker: Turner, the smoothest and silkiest burnt albino south of Sihanouville.
Dirty old Swedish men Ladies watch out.