Silly me. One more time I made up a story in my head, completely convinced myself it was a true and real thing, and then discovered the reality was … well, not at all the one I’d written.
When I heard about Movember, I naturally (who wouldn’t) assumed it was like “grow a beard and be a super-hoMO” month – makes sense, right? MOvember?
Hmmph. Turns out it has NOTHING to do with my people, the Mo’s, and everything to do with raising awareness about and funds for men’s health issues, like prostate cancer and such.
Well, I’m not asking people for money. But I am going to refrain from shaving for as long as I can because, frankly, I am sick and tired of shaving. Frankly, I’m sort of sick and tired of a lot of things. I need to re-charge.
So, here I am, three days in, not shaving. We’ll see how long this lasts.
Is it just coincidence that ALL I can think about is getting a HUGE HULKING Ford F650 (or some such thing) with enormous wheels and huge exhaust system and REALLY LOUD ENGINE? Is this a testosterone thing?
Whatever. I’m not overly worried about becoming overly sterotypically masculine. Last night, driving along, minding my own business, in a very urban area, I struck a deer. My car was fine. The deer, not so much I think. I pulled into the nearest gas station and cried for twenty minutes, then wept off and on the rest of the night.
Damn it. This weepiness is going to be a problem when I travel across state lines this weekend to West Virginia to get myself a couple of hand guns to put in my new Ford big-wheeled, huge monster truck with tinted windows so I can live in total privacy.
As my Mom said, “Sure you are, Charlie. Sure you are.”