Miss T has been whining for the past month that I need a haircut. It's not that long, it's just that for most of our marriage, I have either been in uniform, or worked for agencies that... well... were of that type. She grew used to seeing me with a "cop" cut of some type. Not necessarily a high and tight like the Corps, but very short and neat.
Since I retired, I let it get longer, never touches my collar, or over my ears, but somtimes as much as almost two inches on top when combed over.
This morning, tired of nagging, and sweating, I took the clippers and my razor and a half hour at the sink... summer cut. Miss T calls it the cue ball look. This she likes.
I come out of the bathroom and she smiles. Then she looks thoughtful.
"About that goatee..." she says...
Sigh
