Underwear Boy and narcissism

One last ode to Underwear Boy.

As Australia is mourning the loss of the classic Aussie bloke (seriously – there’s a competition to find/celebrate those rugged outback men), Underwear Boy is doing all he can to contribute to the rise of the metrosexuals. I realize that I am not the most appearance-oriented person, but I am continually amazed at UB’s vanity. He spends more time in the bathroom in one day than I do in an entire week, and has twice the number of “beauty” products as Tamara and me combined. I honestly don’t think that is much of an exaggeration. He has multiple different hair gels, hairsprays, shampoos, and a hair straightener for his 1-inch hair! One day I counted 11 bottles of hair regrowth formula in the bathroom, which is kind of ironic since he once told Tamara “My goal is to become a fat, bald lawyer. All the best lawyers are fat and bald. But not until I’m 30.”

The blue circles are UB's, the red circles are Tamara's, and the green circle is mine.

He has 2 pictures up in his room – one of him and his fiancé, and one of him and his “stunning” chest. Interestingly, his investment in his appearance seems to stop at anything that would involve too much effort (i.e. exercise). He has a few dumbbells in his room, but I’ve only seen them used as a doorstop. And apparently, eating an insane amount of grease every day is also part of his health regimen. He has gotten visibly fatter in the 3 months I’ve known him – an observation facilitated by his chronic lack of clothing.

Once again, we shake our head and say “Oh Peter.” This entry is not meant to offend anyone who identifies with UB – just to share my enlightening experience of living with a metrosexual.