Not far from my bed, in a wooden contraption from India that can hold about a dozen books, I have several bibles in different languages. They rub shoulders with other worthy tomes: The Upanishads, The Koran, two editions of Kamasutra, and the like. For some reason, I cast my eye on these books when I came to my bedroom to check something. Curled up on top of the Vulgata, my favorite bible, there sat a thick pubic hair. And now the clincher: I removed it at once, and with a touch of reverence. The sentiment was strong enough to warrant the swiftest of denouncements.