That people who paid other people to groom them were lazy. But as a depressed person, I find that when I’m depressed, hygiene is the first thing to go. For me, right now, bathing is more difficult than getting out of bed and going to my shit job. To my boyfriend’s horror, I have uttered the words “I don’t remember the last time I showered, I think it was…” Also, there are approximately 5 square inches of my person from the neck up that don’t have to be shorn with an electric trimmer multiple times per week once my sickly follicles become unruly (about 4mm). It’s no wonder that until 20 minutes ago, I looked like I cleaned the floor of a SuperCuts with my whole head. I cannot remember the last time I manscaped. My balls looks like a soft, manageable cocoon, because apparently it’s easier to condition my pubes during a rare shower than deal with them. Really, life? Isn’t it enough to breathe and be conscious goddammit? And I’m supposed to exercise, too?
If I’m ever wealthy, I’m going to stimulate the economy by paying people to do everything to me. Trim these nails, wax this back, wipe my ass, shake my dick, spoonfeed me pureé. Or just put me in a wheelchair and roll my fat ass through a wash-and-wax, as long as I don’t have to exert any effort. That can probably be arranged in the present now that I think about it.