The expression "TMI" (or 'to much information') was one of those expressions that came along just in time for my mother to hear it in the middle schools (where she was working) and incorporate it into her daily use. There is not a month that goes by in which my mother doesn't say, "TMI Matt, TMI." And she's using it absolutely correctly. At some point, probably around the end of high school/beginning of college, I decided that the way to avoid those awkward conversations with my parents RE: my sexual behavior, was to just to go Full Monty on them. My plan, which i believe worked beautifully, was to give them an entirely inappropriate amount of details early on, so that they might never ask for details again. This is not a novice move and had the potential for some hideous fall-out (what would i do if they had gotten super into my stories???) First I scarred em with money shots (figuratively), and then later, for my adult life, I have never had to worry about invasive questioning again (This hasn't stopped the questions RE: grandchildren unfortunately).

I tell you all this as a lead up to this post which is, unquestionably, TMI. I know this because having told in to 4 people, 3 thought it was the best and most wonderful thing that has ever happened (as do I), and 1 looked at me like i was slicing open a baby deer right in front of him. While there is no right or wrong, I must warn you that the following true story has a 25% of grossing you out. But hopefully you'll laugh either way . . . you've been warned.

Before bed I, like everyone, have my own little routine. As part of that routine I generally give the ol chest hair (real men have chest hair) a scan -- for ingrown hairs. This particular night (about 2 weeks ago) I find a hair that seems nailed down on both ends. Even with tweezers and some (and i'm not necessarily proud of this behavior but what can you do) digging--the hair wouldn't budge. But I am not a novice, nor am I a quitter. I dug deeper. Finally, I get what I'm looking for, as I dig into the now crater-like hole, the hair pops out like a spring that is finally allowed to untwist. A great feeling. I remove the circle of hair, and look down sheepishly to see the damage.

And then i see it. The same original hair, nailed down on both ends, still in my chest where it started. It looked as if I dug underneath the original hair where another ingrown had been hiding, that I heroically set free. "Wash, rinse, repeat" as they say. I started digging again.

And then, POW -- as satisfyingly as the first time, the hair dislodged and popped out (once again like a new spring being sprung) almost identically to the first. I guess it looks kinda like opening one of those fake peanut brittle containers--except that the feeling you get from the experience is the opposite. This is historic. I run to the other room so that I can turn my iPhone back on so that I can take a picture of the two circles of hair i just removed from my one tiny little pore.

Just before I take the picture of the two little hairs next to each other (for my blog of course), I look down.

And then I see it. The same original hair, nailed down on both ends, still in my chest where it started. I am flabbergasted!!!! I kid you not when I say that, though it was about 1am, and my gf had been asleep for at least 2 hours at that point, I seriously contemplated waking her up to show her all this. If two hairs = picture time , then 3 hairs = deserving of a monument.

"Wash, rinse, repeat." I dig back in and this time I get the biggest POW of all, the most packed peanut brittle container yet, the springiest of springs, with streams of white shooting out just to mark the occasion (I warned you puss-mongers ahead of time so don't blame me that its gross).

A whole 3rd circle of hair pops out of this mother-fucker. This epic little clogged pore has just managed to excrete about 3.5 inches of hair (ballpark). My jaw is hanging as I line up the gold,silver, and bronze medalists from the "epic hairs"category, for their photo op. I imagine them smiling back at the camera, savoring their accomplishment, as the electronic picture noise snaps.

Say cheese!