Apparently there are a whole host of superstitions governing giving birth, if you are Chinese. Cantonese. Hong Kongese. No bathing or cutting your hair for an entire month. No going outside, which, given the previous two, should be easy.
No visiting Lan Kwai Fong on a Saturday night.
Sorry, I just made that last one up.
I'm just considering how lucky I am, as a Caucasian male fast approaching old age, decrepitude, and senescence, that I am not likely to ever give birth. I have fast growing ear hair. One whole month without dealing with it, and I could braid it. Or double for Yoda.
Nobody told me that the aging process would mean stuff growing out of my ears.
No raw vegetables, fruit, or cold water.
No visitors for the first twelve days.
No crying, housework, reading.
No unhappy thoughts.
Specific foods.
I'm still hung up on the hair. Given my age, race, and gender, I've reached the stage in life when one must deal with stuff growing out of the ears. On a regular basis, because I don't want to scare little kids or the nurses at the clinic.
"嘩，呢位老鬼佬有兩個毛神神嘅怪物從佢嘅耳出嚟囉噃。"
At least, that's what I think they'd exclaim. And I don't know whether I'm expressing that properly or not. "waa, ni-wei lou gwailo yau leung-go mou-san-san ge gwaaimat chung keui-ge yi chut-lai lo-boh".
It's not something on which I'm planning.
Shave the ear lobes. Plus the edges and the rims.
What sticks out gets trimmed.
No, I am not going to ask my Cantonese apartment mate about this.
I think she's probably traumatized enough already.
I am a thoughtful man.
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