I used to tell people that I only had two fears regarding aging: (1) hair growing out of my ear canal, and (2) having toenails that look like Fritos ScoopsÂ®.I used to tell people that I only had two fears regarding aging: (1) hair growing out of my ear canal, and (2) having toenails that look like Fritos ScoopsÂ®. Well, I have hair growing everywhere and have for some time now. Gym class at Tyner Junior High School was an embarassment for me, largely because the secondary sex characteristics involving body hair awakened in me before pretty much everyone else at my school. Though the 70s were dawning, my classmates were ready for neither a hairy chest nor a moustache [cue classic 70s porno soundtrack featuring a sinuous boom-chicka-baio-baioooo electric guitar]. In fact, my mother had this preternatural fear of my shaving for the first time, claiming that once I "did it" the hairs would grow back twice as thick and abundant (and this is a bad thing?). Tired of looking like I had a really dirty face, I sneaked over to my sister Audrey's trailer next door where my same-age niece/best friend Rhonda let me shave with her powder blue Lady Schick electric. The conspiritorial buzz and the smell of hot hair and motor oil gave way to a smooth and clean mug. Sure, it grew back, but it didn't reach Hagrid-like proportions until some years afterwards.