HEY HARRY, HAPPY HARRY HOLIDAYS,
Sorry for the delay in getting back to you, Harry, but I've been fighting the battle of the beard on the home front. So how ya doing? Hoping the Little Mrs. was OK with you growing your beard, or isn't she with you anymore?
Anyway, as I promised you, I did my man thing for both of us and grew a beard! It felt good. It was like I had reclaimed my manhood. I did something just because I wanted to. At my age, short of breaking the law, isn't that reasoning good enough?
Once my intentions were announced, my subversive spouse wanted to know when I'd be shaving it off or if I were willing to sleep alone in the guest bedroom, etc? By the time of the first sprouting, I sensed she was activating her Woman's Anti-Beard Army. It started with a salvo of 'negatexts' from the 3 cloned, drone daughters.
Next came the subtle stubble assault from her anti beard buddies from her book club, wine club, walking club, sewing club who all seemed to know that she did not like my new look. Therefore, they didn't like my new look.
You would have been proud of me Harry, surrounded on all sides, I stood my ground against a tsunami of female opinions. I did it for us, Harry!! Maybe I'm exaggerating my friend, but I likened myself to Davy Crockett at the Alamo, and you know how that ended.
November has been tough here. Birthday month for both of us, cabin fever with colder temps and miserable colds, Thanksgiving. Ugh!
I splurged indulging myself with a designer beard trimmer for my birthday knowing she wouldn't get me one. For her birthday it was flowers, a nice Hallmark card, and an evening out. She bought herself a new state of the art sewing machine giving me a recycled generic card from 2013 and peck on the forehead. I tried so hard to please her, even watching Dancing with the Stars, Bachelor, Good Wife reruns.
So Harry, you can see how I've sacrificed trying to balance the beard with the bride. In my memoirs I'll call this chapter in my life, November Impasse.
A muted voice in the back of my tormented mind keeps whispering, "You're cut off!!! Yes, you!!! You're cut off!!!"
Thanksgiving is D-Day (Decision Day) and I have yet to decide if I'll show up at our family gathering sporting my soup strainer or not; risking ridicule for pride!
"YOU'RE CUT OFF!!" The voice I hear is stronger. Is that my voice conditioning my beard for the final cut as I cower in the shadow of the power of the woman, or is it a female voice predicting my future?? HARRY, a little support here!! Harry?????