I had a shave today. This might not sound like much of an accomplishment, but I was rapidly heading towards Grizzly Adams territory (anybody younger than 40 is probably wondering “who the hell is Grizzly Adams?”). My other half tried to convince me that I might look quite dashing with a beard, and cited the example of a certain famous infant school teacher – well… famous in our house anyway.
Here’s the thing – shaving off facial hair once it’s edging past the stubble stage feels a bit like rubbing your face with a cheese grater. Especially if you ran out of shaving foam several months ago, but thought “it’s fine – I’ll just use soap – I’ll get some next week”.
It hasn’t escaped my attention that our hair is continuing to grow while in lock-down – and will continue to grow, because it’s kind of good at that. I made the mistake of wondering out-loud in the kitchen this morning about buying some clippers and having done with my hair for the next six months – the ultimate “zero maintenance” Dad haircut. Unfortunately my other half and children also thought it sounded like a wonderful idea – an idea that could be filmed, and posted to the internet.
The order at Amazon for hair clippers is going in this evening. Even if we don’t raise any money towards the NHS – because of course everybody needs the little money they have left at the moment – I suppose it will show some solidarity, won’t it? And I won’t have to comb my hair for months.