Jasper sat down, crossed his legs and propped the mirror up against his bare calves. He picked up the tweezers, leaned in towards his reflection and started to pluck at the thick hairy streaks which rested sullenly above his eyes. He had really let himself go over the last year, let himself become fat and unhealthy and unnecessarily hirsute. It was time for some discipline, he thought, as he tweezered his first target.
The process was excruciating, each hair stubbornly refusing to budge unless and until the necessary explosive aggression was applied. The pain was shocking at first, but, once he had become accustomed to it, Jasper enjoyed the associations which it evoked. He thought back two years to the last time he had rededicated himself to personal presentation, to the familiar pain of the plucking and to the burst in self-esteem which he knew would result from the rigorous application of the regime.
He finished the first brow, put down the tweezers and looked inquisitively into the mirror. The left side of his face was jaded, worn out by months of failure, but the right glowed in cocky acknowledgement of a successful new era to come.
Jasper smiled. The right side of his face winked back. 2011 was going to be his year.
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