The truth is out there... Male makeovers. AVOID!

I'm never going to be a male model. I thought about pursuing a career in it once. But after some initial inquiries, the only offer I received was a chance to be in Gay Bear Truckers Monthly (and not that there's anything wrong with that)... plus, being told I would be on page 24 and the not the centrefold was a bit disheartening... so I gave up on the idea.
Now I don't want this to sound like sour grapes. Life has many disappointments, and if that's as disappointing as my life gets, then I can deal with it. Besides, breaking Gay Truckers hearts, especially Gay Bear Truckers, by having to reveal I'm not gay (again, not that there's anything wrong with that) probably would have given me a crisis of conscience.

However, this minor flirtation with the idea of being a male model did begin to make wonder about my overall appearance.
Not so much as to whether or not I'm good looking. The answer to that is no. But more about if I was working enough with what little I have. That is, could I perhaps give myself a 'D.I.Y. Extreme Makeover' ?

For research I watched 5mins of Australia's Next Supermodel, 3mins of OPRAH, and three infomercials about some such beauty products, I dunno.
I did try asking my mates down at my local pub about what beauty regime they used, but the peals laughter, disparaging snorts, queries about my state of sobriety, and some rather obscure references about me, my testicles, and something about them having gone on holiday, meant any usable knowledge they may have shared was lost in the overall cacophony.
But that aside, I did feel I was ready to try my makeover. I had the basics. I was ready.

First off I thought I'd try the cucumber on the eyes thing. They seemed quite keen on it in Australia's Next Supermodel.
After a fruitless (bad pun intended) search throughout my fridge for the 'vegetable' in question, I settled on grabbing the largest gherkin (or pickle) I could out, of a jar I'd found hidden up the back, behind the tofu I'd bought to impress some girl a few months ago. And so I cut two slices off it. The gherkin, not the tofu. I'm never touching that stuff no matter how pretty the girl is. Anyway, with Gherkins being just baby cucumbers, I felt this was an appropriate substitute.
Big mistake! After settling down in my reclining chair and placing the slices over my eyes, I was suddenly reminded of why some people do in fact call them pickles... oh how it burned!!!

But I was not put off by this failure.

Once the stinging in my eyes had subsided to a reasonable level I was able to refocus on my regime. I saw on one of the infomercials something about opening the pores of your skin with steam, and how that can make you look more youthful.
So I stumbled and groped my way, still semi-blind, to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
They say a watched pot never boils...
But believe me, holding your face over the spout of a kettle while you wait for it to boils seems like an eternity.
I'm not sure exactly what went wrong, but thinking on it, I probably should have used a towel or something. I vaguely remember the woman on the infomercial doing that.

So, still somewhat blinded, and now suffering from 2nd degree burns to my face, I felt I had nothing to lose and decided nevertheless, to push on with the final stage of my D.I.Y. makeover... I had heard on a discussion on Oprah that enlightened men these days shave their chests. What could go wrong? I mean I'd been shaving in a more normal fashion for years, without any major incident.

Luckily for me and my hindered eyesight, I normally shave in the kitchen. No need to grope my way around the house. And I shave in the kitchen (I live alone by the way), not for any strange reason. It's just that the water out of the hot tap in the kitchen seems a couple of degrees warmer than that of the bathroom. And if you have wiry hair then you know what a difference those few degrees can make. If you don't, then just trust me on this.

Anyway, I knew my razors were on the window ledge just above the sink, and I could sort of make them out. And I remembered that I had put the can of saving foam pretty close to my waffle iron at breakfast time. I had been making waffles, and had shaved while I waited for them to be ready. Too easy. I saw the can, or a blurry image of it.
Grabbed it and began to shake.
Now is it just me, or does that click-click noise from the little ball (or whatever it is inside) make you think you are part of some Latin band and you are a maracas or flamenco castanet maestro???
But I digress...
I finished shaking the can, applied a liberal amount of foam to my chest, grabbed a razor and prepared to shave...
Now I can't be certain if it was on the third or fourth stroke of my razor when I heard a noise in the backyard. Can and razor in hand I headed off to investigate...
Stumbling about, like some sunburned zombie, I made my way out the back door and down the steps with only a few minor bumps, trips and mumbled curses.
It was at this point I was thrown backwards with an weight hitting me. I crashed to the ground hitting my head on the very last step. It took just a moment for me to realise a dog had jumped up at me and pushed over. I could tell by the panting (and the dog-breath).
Remembering that dogs like licking faces, I immediately covered my face with my arms... I'm not sure but dog drool can't be good for 2nd degree burns can it?
Then the strangest thing happened. The dog began licking my chest with enthusiasm...
Knowing I was only in danger of being licked to death by my canine attacker a sense of relief flooded over me.
"Good boy! Good boy!!!" I exclaimed. "Who's a good boy??"...

Then I heard a female voice say "Garf? Are you ok?".
Turning my head in the direction of the voice I replied with a nervous giggle that I was, or at least I thought I was.
The sound of footsteps came closer...
"Are you sure?..."
Then a few more hesitant footsteps...
"Oh my GOD!!!... you SICKO!!!"
Baffled, hurt and trying hard to stifle a painful giggle building from the dog's licking I managed a weak "What? What do you mean? Can you just give me a hand up, please... whoever you are."
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.
"Garf! When you said come around for a coffee one day. I knew you were a bit odd. And that was alright. But WHY do you have a can of WHIPPED CREAM, and why are you encouraging that dog to lick your chest with it? IT'S SICK! JUST SICK!!!!"
Another sharp intake of breath... then the sound of heavy and rapid footsteps disappearing into the distance...

I learnt 3 things from that experience.

1. Male makeovers are not for me
2. That it's best to shave in the bathroom no matter what.
3. And my neighbor's dog loves whipped cream...

I have never found out who owned the female voice. Asking a woman if they remember the day I had a dog licking whipped cream of my chest is not that easy to work into a conversation.

Some mysteries are just best left unsolved...