Love and Grooming 5

            As I drove home, I wedged the breakfast bar between my knees and opened the package. Turns out I was hungry. And down-in-the-mouth. But I still thought that Clarissa and I had a potential relationship. There just seemed to be a disagreement over degree of proximity. I arrived home and crawled into bed. I was very tired, too.

            At sunset, and after a fitful rest, I got up. Across the street, in the park, they were taking down the banners from a kick-off gathering that would culminate in an anti-heat-exhaustion festival later on the weekend. I wouldn’t try to call Clarissa. What was the use? I moped and listened to the chat from workers leaving the Whole Foods down the street. The neighborhood I live in is particular, and the room I live in small, but the rent is cheap. The sun fully set and the bright LED of the sign from the micro-brewery on the corner bled through the blinds. I could now hear people accosting others with leaflets against tearing down the old library nearby. Not quite mayhem, but it was something in my neighborhood. I considered the trimmer in its package.

            Scissors didn’t work, with the blades threatening to spread and bend as I took them to the hard, plastic shell. Luckily, I had a hack-saw in a bag of tools under the sink. I didn’t intend to investigate the trimmer itself, or actually use it. I just wanted to look at it more closely. I hacked into the package after a few minutes, leaving plastic shavings on the carpet, and a small gash between my left index finger and thumb. I started by reading the instructions inside. They were an eye opener. It read:

            “Trimmer Of Nostril Hair Pour Homme. If there are follicles wider than two hundred microns, use of this trimmer voids the warranty. Discontinue use and see your doctor. Not to be used on eyelashes or for pets.”

            (Which shows how far off I was, when I first met Clarissa eighteen hours before.)

            “Either way, you are really screwed” (the instructions read) ‘if you need this sort of trimmer, you furry thing, you. The use of this trimmer is only less futile than trying to get a refund for it once you break it trying to get rid of those bristles on your ears.”

            I stopped reading and looked around. There was no one with which to share my amazement at this instruction pamphlet. I left the offensive thing on an end table, got up, and looked through the blinds. Lit balloons had been launched from the park, in the hopes to ‘End Humidity Now’. A small group of lonely men had gathered just outside the 30% Recycled Content Wine Bar. But they were quiet. I listened, and all I could hear was Yanni. I went, curious, back to the packet and read.

             “You only bought this thing in desperation, is my guess, (the packet continued) since returning spring-time birds have descended on your sorry furry noggin, looking for nesting material. And, by the way, how can you live with yourself with your nose and ears like that? No offense, but perhaps you can tour with a vaudeville show or a carnival.”

            And, there was more. It ended with an FCC statement.

            “This device complies with part 43 of the FCC rules. It provides no interference to radio or television signals through normal use. But if you use it, for example, as an oscillator for your own pirate radio station, what the hell are you doing? You should have it up your nose, not up on the roof, you dumb cave-dweller. We officially agree with the manufacturer that you should stick to simple things in your life, seek your own level and just give up on the nosehairs or tweaking electric products for your own pathetic ends. You could hurt yourself or others. Especially others! Not that we care much, it’s just our job to warn you. Also, using this product other than for what the manufacturer intended voids the warranty and is punishable by a fine of $100,000 and as much as 5 years imprisonment. And that’s Fed time, buster.”

            I’d had a rough eighteen hours. On that note, I went to the Sooper Dooper to audit.

            We always knew that grain for pets

            was always too abundant.

            Now that there’s the gluten threat,

            rice products are redundant.

            Available in bulk!

            A dust-pastel twelve pack.

            “Who’s the good dog?” Feed the hulk

            and get the good vibes back.

            There aren’t any smiles

            to be found in the pet aisles

            ‘xept printed on the products lying there.

            ‘Mongst feline gourmet curries

            you’re wrapped up in worries,

            khaki, gingham, bristles and nosehair.

            And the mealworms are just lying there

            nestled in the bran.

            Sometimes the naughty children dare

            to hold them in their hand.

            They languish in a box,

            weigh about an ounce approx,

            and they’re cheap- just priced at nearly three bucks per.

            They wriggle slowly with abandon.

            You can take possession and then

            feed your snake Tenebrio Molitor.

            I put the opened pack with nosehair trimmer and instructions back in its place on my plywood desk. If anyone wondered (who would?) I could say that I opened it the better to place it. I lingered there. I didn’t have much to do that night, and that didn’t matter either. Some work could be put off for the next day. The back room was quiet until Clarissa burst in.