I golf a couple times a week. If I get up early, I hop in the shower, dry off, and dress in the space of 7 or 8 minutes. I normally don’t shave unless I have to “go somewhere.” Last weekend, I went off to play golf. Donna was up. She gave me a quizzical look. “Did you shave?” she asked. “Nah. I’m just playing golf.” “Don’t you think you should shave?” She asked. “Nah. Nobody notices,” I replied. She gave me another “look” and I made a hasty exit.
Now I have to say that I have never – never – said to Jim, Bill, Tim or Joe “Psssst . . . did you see Norm? He didn’t shave this morning.” I have never observed that one of my brethren had not taken Barbasol and Schick to face. Frankly, I probably wouldn’t notice if a guy hadn’t shaved unless he started to look like Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top. “Hey Mark – did you shave this morning?” “Scott – I haven’t shaved in six months.” Golly I never noticed. I’m not sure what the big deal is about shaving. But whenever we go anywhere, I inevitably get the question “did you shave?” Most of the time, I come up with the right answer.
In my house, I make all of the big important decisions. Donna makes all of the piddly ones. However Donna is the one who decides what decisions are “big” and which are “piddly.” Shaving, it seems, is one that borders on piddly . . . .