A year ago to this Friday I carved up my right eye with a garden cane. Accidentally I must add - I have nothing against my right eye. In fact I'd go as far to say, it's my sixth most-loved organ.
After emergency surgery and a year of slow healing it's finally back to good. One would think I've learnt my lesson. Not on your Nelly - If you happen to have a Nelly that is.
It's local festival time and I've been roped in to paint a tree red. If the stabbing potential of protruding branch ends isn't danger enough then the drips and sprays from overhead painting should have my eye's alarm bells ringing. But do I wear eye goggles to protect myself? No way. And why not?
I've become an alpha male! Spent all my life thinking of myself as beta. No interest in cars. No interest in beef. No interest in shiny shoes. To me rugby is a suburb of Coventry not a sport. But my alpha has suddenly come out of the testosterone lacquered closet.
I'm not wearing safety goggles because I want to appear manly. I want to look daring and care-free like Rudger Hauer would on the front of Esquire magazine. It's like King Kong, Patrick Swayze, David Niven, Scrappy Doo, Busta Rhymes, Ray Mears and Desmond Lynam have all been melted in one huge vat of masculinity and re-modelled into 'Alpha Man'.
Passing women swoon and men look on in admiration as I bravely stroke red paint all over the brittle bark. I strip to my jeans and toss the sweat from my brow to the ground. I grunt like McEnroe as I reach for the higher branches. Paint sprays all over me. I don't give a shit. I can take it. I'm a man.
And then it's back home for a lovely bubble bath, a manicure and a G'n'T.
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