There is only so much adults can tell children about what's to come. There's so much to tell. The pain of unrequited love, the disappointment of not being perfect, the abject dismay of the human condition, the all-encompassing bliss of letting someone else love you, the vast possibilities and opportunities that await. Then, there's the mundane routine of adulthood: sleep, eat, shit, work, shop, lather, rinse, repeat. Which parts are relevant when everything's included?
I don't know, but I wish my father had told me about nose hairs. After all, I inherited this from him because Mom never had a mustache that started in her nostrils. Now, they're a constant nuisance for me. My hair is starting to thin, but still grows reasonably fast and my hirsute nose is no exception to that.
Of course I have a trimmer. I'm not a barbarian. It's one of those cheap AA-battery operated deals and my rechargeable batteries finally gave all. Two weeks ago, I could just see a peeker at the top of my unshaven lip. That's too much time to let one of these things go.
This morning, when I looked in the mirror, I could see what amounted to a set of spider's legs, wiggling their toes at the base of my nose. Springing into action, spiders in tow, I finally got replacement power for the trimmer. As soon as I slammed the battery in place, I flipped the switch and started the trimmer. Spider's legs gone and sanity restored.
Here's what I wish my father had said to me: "Son. Hair will begin growing in places you didn't think it could. Be prepared and always have batteries on hand."