My wife is using a new skin treatment. This involves brewing a pot of French press coffee, keeping the grounds after, hopefully, drinking the coffee, letting them sit for a day or two until they've turned to a sort of dark, sticky mud, and then applying this, like soap, to the skin when she showers.
"My skin is so soft!" she exclaims, "so smooth. It usually feels so dry at night, but now just feel it!"
The skin is an organ of the body that most men don't spend a lot of time thinking about. To be honest, I suppose that the greater part of our attention is directed toward the sex organs. Whether my own skin is particularly dry or rough, I would not know. I like soft skin well enough, when it belongs to someone else, but know little about my own.
Not so with women. They cherish the skin. They fuss and worry over the skin. They pamper the skin. They rub mucky coffee grounds on the skin. They apply masks at night, composed of mayonnaise and avocado, ingredients more generally associated with a salad. Men are more likely to use WD-40 for the removal of a blemish. Hey, it works. So what if I smell like a garage?
Ah, the wonders, the mysteries, the condiments and conceits that compose the eternal divide between the sexes!
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