I’ve been using my fingers to measure if my forehead is getting bigger. The distance from the middle of my eyebrows to the start of my hairline is the same exact distance from the middle of my chest to my right nipple. It has to be the right nipple because the distance from the center of my chest to my left nipple is half an inch longer than to the right. Don’t ask me why; I wasn’t made in a lab. I realized that almost everything in my body can be measured in inches. From the end of my neck to the edge of my shoulder is 3 inches. Both my feet are 2 inches and a half. My penis is half an inch but it gets to one and a third inches under a minute.
This method has left me with the conclusion that my hairline is receding every day. Either that or my right nipple is moving further away from the center of my chest. I guess the only way to discover is to fast forward five years and see if I go bald or if my nipple moves so much to the right that it is now hiding beneath my armpit. I don’t know what sounds worse, but I know what feels more emasculating. The things that keep me up at night. A nippleless man is a good deal more manly than a bald man. I can say I lost my nipple in Iraq. Yes, yes, a grenade exploded in my trench and took away my nipple. She’ll have sex with me out of respect for the fact that I am a war hero, injured in battle, saving my country. I’ll pray she doesn’t look underneath my armpit during sex.
But the sex is good and we get to talking: we have a lot in common, we exchange numbers, go to the movies, start dating, spend New Year’s Eve together, travel to Australia, I move in with her, we open a swimsuit and vitamin company together. I can never let her find my nipple. She is now pregnant with my second child, and she has never seen my armpit—where I hide my biggest secret. My first son dreams of being a marine and following in my heroic footsteps in the military. I bought a bunch of army uniforms and medals on eBay to keep up the fantasy. As long as I never raise my right arm. As long as they never see the nipple. Our second kid is finally born and demands a lot of our attention. Our first kid starts getting jealous and angry. They start fighting for our attention, but Kid 2 still gets more, as he is only three. One day we leave to drop Kid 2 at school and when we come back, we find Kid 1 and blood all over the floor.
Kid 1 took my shaving blade and cut off his right nipple. He lost blood. He passed out. He is wearing my four-dollar military cap from eBay.
We rush to the hospital and commit to a mountain of debt to save the life of nippleless Kid 1. My wife yells at the doctors, demanding respect: “My husband lost his nipple fighting against Gaddafi for your freedom!” She never realized Gaddafi had nothing to do with Iraq. The doctor delivers the bad news with the respect my wife commanded: Kid 1 didn’t make it. He offers us a small medical container full of formaldehyde with his little nipple floating on it. My wife has lost it completely and demands the doctors sew his nipple to my flat chest as an homage to my dead Kid 1.
I am crying my eyes out while she drags me to the surgery room and wobbles the little nipple jar in my face. Formaldehyde gets in my eyes. She shouts. I am blind and full of it. I take off my shirt and show her my right armpit. I scream for everyone to listen “I have a nipple!” and keep my arm held high so everyone can see it.
I get registered as a sex offender in the state of California for parading my nipples at a children’s hospital. I go to jail. My wife leaves me. I leave jail and start using crack. I stop eating and starve to death. No one comes to my funeral. But it’s an open casket. And if you look into it, you’ll see … I still have a beautiful full head of hair.
The things that keep me up at night. I guess I prefer going bald.
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