the Sweet Smell of Burning Fur (plonq) wrote,
the Sweet Smell of Burning Fur
plonq

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Routine

Routine Sunday morning, rising late and naughtily skipping church to lounge about in my underwear and drink coffee. A scrambled eggs and soysauge kind of morning, where a shave and shower is the acme of my ambitions for the day.

It is a slow, luxurious shaving day involving a thickly lathered brush, and thoughtful, methodical sweeps of the razor. Rinsing reveals that I have shaved too high on one side, and the small sideburns are now unbalanced. Was it a casualty of this morning, or on a less relaxed day when haste trumps finesse? Should I fix it by trimming the other side to match?

Memories return of the young hair stylist at a recent, trendy hair salon geared for the millennial crowd, admonishing me for having shaved far too aggressively in a time when sideburns have fallen back into fashion.

I could shave the other side to match, and my nascent sideburns would slowly wither away one erroneous millimetre at a time until I shaven myself another admonishment from the next barber.

I chose to leave it be, as facial hair is a marvel in erasing our mistakes over time; I shall use the electric trimmer to bring them even as my error grows itself away.

And for the nonce I shall own the asymmetry.
Tags: shaving
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