Monday, April 11, 2011

Week Twenty-Nine: April 4th to 10th



















Pay little attention to the wife-beater in this particular scene...I can assure you it contains no mustard stains and has been featured in no domestic disturbance incidents. (Some days I don't feel like changing out of the undershirts I wear under my white dress shirts before I go for runs. These particular wardrobe-gems always make me think of the wisdom of the Fourth Graders I no longer teach: one day a former student told me, "Hah-hah, I can see your undershirt through your shirt!" Not missing a moment, a classmate turned to him and replied, "Um, yeah, that's why he's wearing it!" It didn't dawn on him that seeing my wife-beater tee was far more desirable than spying my chest-hair-and-nipple shirt.)



Meanwhile the forest on my face has become quite a wilderness. Some days it reacts kindly to the comb-treatment that now takes me far longer than the hair on top of my head; most days it rebels. I have no idea why it treats me so...after all, I am the one hosting this facial infiltration and could just as easily decide to shave and discard it into various trash cans and bathroom drains. But there would surely be some kind of loss that comes from reneging on the commitment I have made here. Still, it could show me some more respect or, at the very least, cooperation.



The longer side--and why exactly there IS a longer side is another question for another discussion--on the right-side jawline, is so unruly I seem to have one of the worst cases of Jeckyll-Jaw I could ever have imagined. (And, yes, I know that Hyde was the beastly incarnation from the Stevenson book, but how many times do you get to drop alliterative devices when referring to rebellious facial hair; so please forgive me the literary faux pas.)



The right side of the beard decides how it will respond to the comb in a different manner each day, and I don't think I could have suspected how much shedding this ropy chin-robe does on a daily basis. I comb it each morning and feel cascades of loose hair strands drop to my chest. Maybe I should just glue them down so I can pull a true Selleck, with the chest-mane to rival the great 'stache....

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