Now since it’s been ages since I last posted on here, and as a result I’m feeling guilty and ashamed, I can promise that this post will feature humiliating photos. There, now you have to keep reading. Movember so far has been going absolutely fine. I haven’t really noticed the intrusion into my life / total embarrassment just yet, which suits me just fine. I mean, I think this is partly due to the fact that I’m straddling an awkward half-way stage in the development of the Mo: decent growth has certainly occurred, but I haven’t quite been bold enough to shave off the rest of the face, leaving just the Mo exposed. The result of this is that I don’t look like a wonderful, worthy person who’s doing Movember; I just look a) like I’m extremely lazy and can’t be bothered to shave, and b) like I might molest someone on public transport. (One of those statements is true – I’ll leave you to decide which one.)
Now we all hear a lot of people whinging that they’re ‘not a morning person’. That’s fine, I understand. But when you say you’re ‘not a morning person’ you probably mean that you wake up early and once you’ve had a coffee and a shower, you’re absolutely fine. You are not ‘not a morning person’. I am ‘not a morning person’. Waking up before 8am makes me feel physically sick. I set my alarm from 45 minutes before I have to be up, just so I can snooze about 400 times and kid myself I’ve had a lie-in. I lie in my bed, shaking with fear and rage at the injustice of having to get out of my bed. I refuse to put the lights on. I wrap myself in my duvet before crawling across my bedroom floor, kidding myself I’m still in bed. I drink at least 8 cups of tea and leave the house wearing 3 hoodies, then change at work. At work, I spent at least half the morning not speaking to anyone, sulking at the fact that I’m awake. After lunch, I’m bearable. I’m not so much ‘not a morning person’ as ‘if you encounter me before midday you will think I’m a serial killer’. So for me, any possible way of cutting corners in the morning is great. Even 30 seconds saved is a joy worthy of some Sound Of Music- style hill-singing. (I bet I’d look great in a wimple.) The best bit about Movember, then, is that I don’t need to shave. In fact, I actively need to not shave. I can crawl into work looking unkempt and revolting and sit looking smug. I am not lazy and unclean. I am a virtuous charity worker who should probably be in line for a Nobel Prize at some point soon. I am to charity work what One Direction are to catchy pop tunes.
In reality, let’s face it – I am a lazy slob. I am in fact to cleanliness and hygiene what Bridget Jones is to journalism. Right here:
Movember, for me, is an exercise primarily in laziness. But if laziness has such positive side-effects – then who am I to argue?
By next time – which won’t be so long away this time, I promise – I pledge that I’ll have taken the plunge and shaved off all but the Mo. You’ll be able to see me looking like the wannabe-Mexican that’s deep inside of me, struggling to get out. But for now – here are the humiliating pictures I promised. I tried to get as many degrading angles as I could for your amusement. I know – I’m far too good to you:
Yes, these pictures were taken at work. I’m a disgrace.