So, I just finished shaving my head.
Not that I was planning on shaving my head.
It just kind of... happened.
It all began as a simple beard grooming.
My winter scruff was getting a little unruly.
So I fired up my beard trimmer.
Everything was going quite well.
Nothing too crazy.
I noticed that my side burns were a little uneven,
So I evened them out.
Then they still didn't look even.
A little more trimming was necessary.
So I started to take down the hair around my temples.
When all of a sudden,
Floyd lets out a cry like he was being murdered.
Needless to say, my hand slipped.
And I was left with a 1 inch wide, 3 inch long bald spot.
"This... is not good," I said.
I was torn between punching the mirror,
or going to see if Floyd was okay.
My mirror is fine.
Floyd, however, is an asshole.
He was barking at a cat on the porch.
And I was left with a decision:
To shave, or not to shave?
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings
and arrows of outrageous laughter (of my friends),
or to take arms against a sea of follicles?
And by opposing, end them.
To dry, to comb...... no more.
So I shaved.
Now, let me say, it's not abnormal for me to shave my head.
Just not when it's 2 degrees outside.
It's more of a summer thing.
And it most definitely is not summer.
My head is cold.
And I need a hat.