And not the usual “You’re so sexy and talented” fan mail. These e-mails are only slightly less disturbing. Just in time for Halloween too.
I received them after last week’s column about how I ended up removing one of the three moles on the face - the Ber-mole-da Triangle - because of something a fengshui expert said.
The mole that I amputated was on my lower left cheek and had two strands of hair growing out of it.
I still have that mole in a plastic container in my refrigerator so that I can pay my respects every time I open the fridge door to get my Marigold Peel Fresh Mangosteen Mixed Fruit Juice with no sugar added.(You too can get your product placement here. Just write to smong@ymail.com to get rates.)
I mentioned in the column that the hairs on the mole are still intact.
A reader wrote: “Try keeping the amputated mole for a few months and see if the hair continues to grow. Wouldn't that be insanely creepy?”
Thank you for the suggestion.
In fact, I plan to keep the mole for not just a few months, but for many years so that I can show it to my grandchildren and give them nightmares to remember me by after I’m dead and cremated, possibly with the amputated mole.
“Remember when crazy Ah Kong showed us that fossilised mole he kept in his fridge? Eeeeee! I couldn’t sleep for weeks after that. I could still see the hair!”
And yes, it would be insanely creepy if the hair continues to grow.
Now there’s an idea for a Halloween costume - a human-size amputated mole with still-growing hair.
Don’t worry. You won’t hurt my feelings if you’re still going as Lady Gaga.But you know what would be creepier than if the hair continues to grow? If a whole other me grew out of that amputated mole.
We would probably end up fighting over the mangosteen juice. I don’t like to share.
Though it would be nice to have someone else take the kids to tuition.
Actually, my bigger concern is that hair would continue to grow from the spot on my face where the mole used to be. I have enough stray hairs growing from unexpected parts of my anatomy to trim. I’m looking at you, nipple fur.
As it turned out, I might have been a little too hasty to excise my mole because of something a fengshui expert said, according to another reader.
The reader wrote: “Actually, your life path is all in your date of birth. Not about looking at the number of moles you have.”Oh, now he tells me.
The reader continued: “If you do not mind giving me your date of birth, I can tell who you are and what will become of you. It is free of charge just for you only.
“I set up my company PON Consultant Pte Ltd doing consulting on Life Destiny. If you are keen, please provide me with your date of birth and I will provide you with a 20-page report of who you actually are and what will become of you in the future.”
Flattered as I am that someone is offering something free “just” for me, I find this e-mail disturbing on several existential levels.
First is the idea that everyone’s future is pre-determined on the day he or she is born.
Second is the idea that my life can be summed up in 20 pages. I’m not sure whether it’s too many pages or too few. I don’t know what font size he’s using.
Third is the idea that this stranger, whom I’ve never met and know next to nothing about, expects me to give him my birthdate so that he can unlock everything about me. And you thought Facebook had privacy issues.
And last but not least, the idea of knowing my future is scarier to me than mutant mole hair or any Lady Gaga costume.
I can barely deal with knowing the present.
Have a creepy Halloween and keep the fan mail coming.
- Published in The New Paper, 23 October 2011
UPDATE: I had the "teardrop" mole removed on 15 Nov and it's also in my fridge now.
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