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I Went to Target for Some Self Care

but deactivated my Twitter account instead

Everywhere I turn, I keep hearing about this self care pliffle.

Self care is more important now than ever. ~ MSN Lifestyle
Everyone should make self care part of their daily routine. ~ Healthy.com
Are you here by yourself? Care if I join you? ~ ventriloquist dummy tapping on my bedroom window at 3:33AM

Self

Care

Self care

Self caaaaaaarrrre

SELF! CARE!

seff kare

suff kate

Ya ever write a word a bunch of times and it just doesn’t look right? These letters are nothing but alien hieroglyphs* that have me cocking my head like a hunchbacked beagle.

[*hieroglyphs are old GIFs]

To try to unravel the meaning behind these cryptic symbols, I looked to my doctor during a recent Zoom tele-consultation:

Doc: Just apply unguent twice a day to that marmot bite and you’ll be fine. You can pull your pants up now.
Me: Nah I’m good.
Doc: Well can you at least remove the Boogie Nights virtual background?
Me: Hey Doc, can you decipher this for me? <holding up dry-erase board with SELF CARE scribbled in permanent marker>
Doc: Self care is putting into practice methods that prioritize your own physical and mental health.
Me: Like feeding my kids breakfast, lunch, dinner and on-demand snacks?
Doc: No, that would be caring for your children.
Me: Oh. So more like working two jobs to pay for things like medical bills?
Doc: Again, no, although I condone that.
Me: What you’re saying just doesn’t make sense, Doc. “Caring for one’s self!?” Preposterous! Whoever heard such fantastical balderdash!?
Doc: Maybe it’s best to provide an example. Ah — you know when you need a break from work and you give yourself time to meditate?
Me: Medicate?
Doc: Meditate. Relax with mindfulness. Focus on breathing. Find inner peace.
Me: <rocking back and forth, gnawing forearm>
Doc: That’s not it.

*pfft*

Whatever, Doogie. I don’t need no Universidad de Panama smarts to tell me how to care for myself. Why just last month I bought vitamin supplements

from a guy in a camper.

[Be advised: If enticed by a fast-talking dude smelling of Willie Nelson selling discount Flintstoned chewables, those jagged little pills are not taken orally.]

Then my birthday came around and my wife told me I was to celebrate with an entire day of self care.

*gasp*

My beloved was speaking in beelzebabble! A mischievous demon was obviously in control of her mandible.

She handed me six-month’s worth of prescription reward coupons and pointed me in the direction of our local Target.

Target. Red like the devil.

Oh well, ’twas my birthday. Perhaps I was due for some iTLC.

I donned my safety gear and made way for middle class Macy’s.

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After a pleasant bonding moment in the parking lot (#AloneTogether), I strolled in and sought the assistance of an associate sanitizing shopping carts.

“Pardon me, my young buggy baptizer, if you do me the favor of pointing me to your self care section, I promise not to register a complaint about your shirt which on a shade scale clearly smacks more of sangria than candy apple.”

He escorted me past the laxative aisle to a wondrous hidden area I’d never seen before:

A modern day apothecary shoppe solely dedicated to battling male ugliness. The only thing missing was a fast-talking soda jerk dispensing high-fructose and the skinny on tomorrow’s trotter race.

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It was wonderful! Razors developed by NASA that included not one, not two, but three floating blades. Mini fracking tools made to remove nasal hair. Imported wax to tame any comrade’s fiercest eyebrows.

Oh happy days!

I honed in on products vetted by dudes I aspired to. Real debonair gents who carried themselves with rugged yet refined testeronical manliness. I read each package to learn the backstory of these gifts promising to maximize my male chromosomes.

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Terry Bradshaw’s Man-Bits Marinade

“Who has time to tend to their undercarriage? Not me. Hell, it’s like a haunted bayou down there. But when I do attack my nether region, I bring my secret weapon to the game. My special marinade has rich emollients that soothe and unshrivel while a dash of liquid smoke lifts and invigorates. My fellow sportscasters always sniff and ask ‘You been to Outback?’ Ha! This is one quarterback sack they appreciate.”

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JK Simmons’ Cranium Custard

“Fans don’t know I own a glorious mop of hair I shave to land coveted character roles. When I let my mane run wild, I’m always mistaken for my brother Gene. But when it’s time to get in front of the camera, I just don’t slather any shaving cream on my melon. I apply my special custard made from paba and jojoba and other fancy shit. The glow off my skull is mesmerizing, like Tobey Maguire’s ass. If you’re bald, which I’m not, and want to put a sparkle on that noggin that’ll give people WHIPLASH from severe double-takes, than this soft serve sensation is for you. It’s dessert for the dome.”

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T-Fau’s Virile Venom

“People always ask ‘Fauch! You’re pushing 100! How come you look like a sixth-grader coming to grips with puberty!?’ You don’t mix chemicals all day without learning a thing or two about immortality. I developed my Venom in the ’80s with the help of my nonna who was perfecting her marinara. Our beakers got mixed up and BAM we came up with an elixir that doesn’t just defy aging; it reverses it and puts vavavoom in your engine if I can be so bold. It also tastes great over rigatoni. If you want the recipe, go ask Nonna. She’s the lead in a summer production of Annie down in Naples…Florida.”

I had my rebirth-day items selected and headed for self-checkout. I couldn’t wait to hunker in for a day of self care.

“Sorry, sir. These coupons expired this morning,” said the smarmy retaliating off-red gen-zealot. “Maybe you can use a senior discount.”

I wasn’t about to pay $350 for makeover supplies, so I left in a huff, but not without shaking my fist at everyone in the store who obviously could afford self care.

Bah!

Who needs it!?

The way I figure, self care is about doing what you can to mellow out as long as you stay within your means.

For instance, what’s to stop me from a little grooming.

Yeah.

A little trim would be nice.

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Twitter Account
2017–2018

Resurrected 2019

Euthanized, Cremated, Flushed 2020

Rest in Peace

Or Don’t

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"Hi. My name is Roy." - Now that just sounds stupid. (thehappysidestep@gmail.com)

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