Panic.  Absolute panic.  That's the only way to describe my reaction to finding my first ear hair.  I was horrified.  It stood straight out from my ear lobe and was about 3/4 of an inch long.  It was blond in colour.  This, I suspect, was to escape detection.  It intended to turn black overnight to maximize the impact of its arrival.  Anyway, I stood there with this hair trapped between the jaws of a tweezers, staring into the mirror with a look of, as I say, panic.  There was also an element of incredulity.  My grandfather on my father's side was very hairy.  His ears were like geezers of follicles and his eye brows grew like wild briars.  I remember my grandmothers heart was broken trying to prune him.  "Thank God I'll never be like that" said I in my youthful innocence.  Here was evidence to the contrary.  I flushed it town the toilet.  Twice.  This experience was quite different to finding my first pubic hair.  That made my quite proud in actual fact and, continually, I wanted to walk around naked in the changing rooms at the local swimming pool.  I stopped that before I got a reputation, thankfully.

But the discovery of my first ear hair was nothing more than yet another change in a litany that constitutes my recent physical mutation.  It all started with I turned 26.  On the night of my birthday, almost, I started drooling in my sleep.  Its a very unsettling experience to wake up with the side of your face stuck to the pillow [ The saliva produced at night time has much better adhesive qualities than that produced during the day ( HOG 98 ) ].  It happens so frequently now that I wake up periodically during the night now to go on "drool patrol".  This basically amounts to seeking out a dry patch of bed linen and relocating my head there.  Recently I figured out that my drooling is caused by a relaxing of my mouth muscles.  As I fall into deep sleep my mouth slowly takes on a shape like that of an elastic band compressed
in the middle between thumb and index finger.  The loops at either end are far from watertight and its here that the problem occurs.  So now, instead of snoring at night, I kind of gurgle.  The best solution I have found so far is to use 4 pillows so that I sleep almost upright, which reverses the direction of saliva flow.  My father suggested eating a mouthful of sawdust before I go to bed, but I think he was only joking.

Also, soon after turning 26, my nasal hair began to grow.  With a vengeance.  The growth is such now that I think I will end up with tusks [ The rhino horn is make from tightly knitted hair and it can penetrate the side of Richard Attenborough's safari van ( TELLY  97 ) ].  While tusks might come in useful if I wanted to go grubbing for truffles in France, I think they night be a little unsightly so I've been clipping for all I'm worth.  If the growth does not abate and I do end up with tusks, I will try to grow them towards the corners of my mouth and maybe solve my drooling problem.  Now who said there was no such thing as evolution? Then I'll apply for a role in Star Trek.  As a coat rack maybe.

My body hair has exhibited similarly impressive growth.  Particularly on my chest.  In actual fact, my chest hairs are like little explorers.  "Hey" they say, "hey, lets go and see what’s over those mountains".  Then they all nod in agreement at one another and march off over my shoulders at either side of my neck and down the valley of my back, in the process knitting a lovely black V-neck jumper for me. Recent developments suggest that it is becoming a polo
neck. 

So, as you can probably guess, I have spent many tortured hours before the bathroom mirror examining my body and musing about the possible cause of the changes in it.  Here  is a summary of what I have so far:

A man reaches his physical peak at the age of 26/27.  At this stage his growth hormones have done their job:

"Our life's work is done", they say.  "We have created our masterpiece".  If you're out of shape, here they all start tittering.  If you're in shape they swell their chests proudly.  "Now before us we have retirement.  The golden years.  Lets make the most of it.  Yeeeaaahhhh" ( they are american growth hormones ).  So, they all troop off to their reclining chairs and tartan slippers.  After a month or two they get restless.  They look for a hobby.  They call a EGM of the Retired Growth Hormone Club.  They gather in a big hall to discuss what they can do for a hobby.  There are free cups of tea and assorted biscuits.  They all sit around in silence for a while until a old wrinkled fella stands up and says "Growing things is what we're good at.  Its what we enjoy.  If we could only find something to grow that would be entertaining and rewarding".  "But what?" they all think.  Then a look of realization dawns on each of their faces simultaneously and they shout as one "I know.  Hairs!".  A few wakes later you are the communal garden of the RGHC and ground to The Longest Hair Contest, The Curliest Hair Contest, The Grow a Hair on a Spot Contest, The Densest Patch of Hair Contest and, the most prestigious contest, The Hair in the Most Embarrassing Place Contest.  I have particularly talented growth hormones, from what I can see.  

To combat them I've been leafing through the Mens Toiletries section of the Argos catalog ( because I am too embarrassed to go in to a shop and ask for an industrial strength nasal hair clipper ). Currently I'm considering electric hair removal, but its like trying to fight a hydra.  You cut the head off one hair and two more pop up in its place.  Maybe I should just resign myself to my fate and get comfortable with the fact that I am going to go through the rest of my life as a two handled toilet brush.  Or I could advertise for an equally hairy mate:

"Hairy man seeks hairy woman for mutual grooming sessions and love making that will produce static electricity.  Likes reading, cinema, climbing trees and foraging for ants in the jungle.  Leave a message for Bananas at box 7777".