My hand was forced three weeks ago when I felt the tingle above my top lip.
"Dad's got a coleslaw," the kids will announce when stress or sun or lack of sleep deliver me this evil.
"Well tell Herpe-Boy not to kiss me!" Tracey will call back. She's always very supportive like that.
The last thing you want to do with a cold sore is to shave it, and rather than end up with a Hitlerish monstrosity beneath my nose this time I chose to let my whole face blossom and just trim the jowls.
Naturally this invited lots of comments from my customers.
"It's not Movember," I was told more than once. I tried to tell them it was Mopril, but most didn't buy it.
By the end of the week the tingle was gone and I was about to shave when a lovely customer, who I really must remember to send a card to this Christmas, commented with the beard coming in I looked a bit like George Clooney. Were they serious? Probably not. I didn't care. But it may not surprise you to learn I didn't shave for another two weeks.
Conversations were a little repetitive after that.
Conversations were a little repetitive after that.
"It looks good on you," a customer would say.
"Apparently it's very George Clooney," I'd happen to mention, after which they'd laugh: sometimes rudely. Some would be very pro-whiskers, some very against. I can't help but feel the ones who were against it were being more honest.
Still enough customers in need of cataract surgery agreed it looked good so I kept growing the fuzz, even though it was infuriatingly itchy.
I wasn't even tempted to shave it off after one customer harshly disagreed with the George Clooney comparison, adding, "I'd say it's more George Michael." Fine by me. I figure there's people knocking on both their doors.
No, what finally had me tearing at my face with a couple of blunt razors was when a lady decided, even more than the Georges, I reminded her of an iconic Australian.
Trust me to reject the Rolf Harris look? Sure can.
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