Welcome to New Edge Hill

My moustache twitched in an effort to escape the confines of a bucket of cream, hair ointment and the extensions I had put in last week. It wanted to compete with Teddy’s natural face locks and show that it, too, could stand proud. The hair on my arms had only run of the mill body lotion to keep it in place, which in the unexplained circumstances I found myself in with Teddy Dick that late summer morning, was of complete uselessness. It stood up on end. I looked over at Teddy. The desire to see a facial hair out of place, snap a picture and post it online was too strong to resist. But his face hair was perfect, as always, leaving my heart to sink and ponder what I must look like (I refused to confirm my suspicions by looking in the mirror). The hair on his arm closest to me was in a state similar to my own. At least not everything about him was perfect. It was confusing that someone could be so perfect and yet, still be such a dickhead.