It’s Monday and I haven’t had my coffee.
I do not like my hair. Let me explain.
The hair on my head is currently long – and I know, it’s entirely my own fault for not going to the barber and having it cut. I’ve gone to the same barber for almost seven years; for 5 years before that, I cut my own hair (Krystal put an end to that once we were married); and I went to the same barber in Pennsylvania for the 18-odd years before that. My long hair itches, it gets in my eyes, and it doesn’t actually look long as it does matted (think ungroomed English sheepdog). It’s worse now, for as much as I love Autumn I detest the seasonal scalp itch it brings with it. Each year I vow not to scratch my head bloody; so far I’ve lost that bet. Maybe this year will be different. Maybe.
And then there’s my facial hair. I love my facial hair and despise shaving, so it all works out. If I could have my way, I’d grow my hair to “Professor” level as seen in the handy guide on the left. However, I do not have my way. Krystal despises beards and – like the hair on my head – my Van Dyke refuses to grow long; instead, it insists on growing like a thick tangle of brambles into a matted, knotted mess. As mush as I love my facial hair, I really dislike eating it. Trichophagia isn’t my cup of
Did I mention I despise shaving? I hate the feel of razor on skin, I hate the slick feel of the shaving cream, I always leave stubble behind – and not good “dashing” stubble, but oddly placed and spaced “idiot” stubble. Shaving is one of my least favorite personal hygiene activities. Only cuticle trimming is worse – weird, I know, but it’s my dislike so I’m allowed to have it.
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