Hottt

Sunday night was a big night for me, as far as grooming goes. After everyone at dinner agreed I was inexcusably shaggy, my friend Matt declared that he would take on the task of giving me a haircut.

Which he did.

A great job, too, at least *I* think so... much better than numerous supposedly Great clips I've received in the past, and the price was right: I owe him a beer.

Well, after my haircut, I went home feeling so snazzy that I decided to shave my face as well. As I got out the beard trimmer and closed the bathroom door, Penny called out from the couch.

"Your eyebrows need trimming too. Don't forget your eyebrows."

No problem. I sheared my cheeks in no time flat, even going back over them with the electric Norelco I generally reserve for my neck. Smooth and sexy.

Oh yeah, though: the eyebrows. I quickly ran the beard trimmer over the blonde caterpillars, trimming them to a manageable size with the first pass. But wait, I thought... she seemed pretty emphatic... maybe my eyebrows were way too long, and I need to make sure I take off a lot. Well, that's simple enough - just twist the little dial one click lower and go back over the brow ridge.

There. Nice 'n tidy.

I hopped in the shower and sudsed up, rinsing off any stray hairs and scrubbing myself to Mountain-Spring freshness. I emerged a new man.

Stepping out, I could tell even through the fog on the mirror that I was radiant... practically glowing with raw masculine appeal.

I pulled on some pajama pants and a t-shirt and walked out to the living room, sitting down beside Penelope on the couch, waiting for her to throw herself at me.

"Lope, please," I'd chide. "Try to control yourself."

Nothing.

So I picked up a magazine, and browsed motorcycle articles as majestically as possible. I leaned back against the cushions, casually flexing a bicep and pointing to it with the other hand.

"Uhh," she finally said, eyeing me over her laptop screen. "What happened to your eyebrows?"

"I trimmed them," I purred, arching one dramatically for added verve. "You like?"

"You look really weird," she said, stifling a giggle. "Your skin is all red from the shower, your face is naked and you shaved off your eyebrows."

"Really? Red?"

"Oh yeah," she confirmed. "You look like a little demon."

"Oh."

I went back to my reading, studying the Ducatis, imagining how much hotter I'd be astride a sultry Italian racebike, parked in front of a chic restaurant on the Riviera... once my eyebrows grow back.

The helmet would even hide my horns.