Today marked a moment in our household. It was the day I brought out the razor for something other than my wickedly tenacious leg hair. My arm pits were in need of a trim. This was probably a matter of opinion and not normally something I would announce to the world but it has been nearly five months since I last performed this task. So I feel an announcement is excusable.
My eyebrows have also been remarked upon. Yesterday they drew positive comments from two separate sources. I had been remiss in noticing their reappearance so scuttled away to a mirror to establish that they are indeed looking perkier than they have of late. If thin eyebrows are a measure of insanity then I am heading into the realms of the compos mentis.
The Captain and I have been engaged in hot debate about my other hair. The hair on my head, not elsewhere. Stop sniggering at the back. Its wispy, fuzzy, odd length bits and pieces makes me want to take the clippers to it. It is after all, approximately a centimetre in length on average. ‘You’re quite thick in the head,’ as the Captain put it. And we all know cutting hair makes it grow, right? Could it be that this is an old wives tale? Surely not! Anyway, anyway, anyway. My reasons for trimming it are simple. It looks stupid. There is no guarantee that cutting it will help with this but it may remove some of the wispy. But the Captain will not hear of it. And will therefore not do it. And I am not to be trusted with sharp things alone. Sigh.