At certain times, and in certain light, I should avoid
examining my chin in the mirror.
It used to be that tweezers were all I needed to pluck the
occasional wayward facial hair. But lately, a scythe seems more in order.
Luckily, most of the hair is blonde (or is it white?). And
it is more like peach fuzz than, say, crab grass. Still, there was a renegade, standing
tall and defiant, from my neck of all places.
Surely there must be a spiritual lesson or some wisdom in
this somewhere, but this morning, I’ll be damned if I can find it.
No comments:
Post a Comment