The hair on my neck and ears got to be too much yesterday, and I asked my barber to do something about it. I instructed her to leave the facial hair alone. That shall remain for now as my rebellion.
Well, Roomie is my barber. We reached an agreement ten years ago. I would stop shaving my head, and she would take care of my haircuts as they became necessary. (Only convicts in eastern Europe shave their heads, according to her.) Did I mention that she also hates facial hair? Well, she does.
As she has done ever since I met her, she did exactly what she wanted to do instead of what I asked her to do. She insisted on trimming up what passes for a beard and mustache on me.
It’s not a big deal. It was just grooming, but it annoyed me. I’m in this rebellious funk, and am not particularly concerned about how others perceive my appearance. Thanks to her, I’m nearly presentable at the moment. Absolutely unacceptable.