Turning Thirty One or Two (I can't remember)

Some things you were once shocked at, somehow become normal over time.  Like violence on TV, the F word, crying babies in church, and not being able to remember how old I am.

My birthday is around the corner, and I seriously cannot remember how old I am.  It's not that uncommon for people (old people that is) to forget their birthday.  What is shocking is how much disdain I used to have for people who forgot such things.  I thought, how can one seriously forget their age?  I think I even didn't believe them when they said that they had forgotten, but were just on a sympathy fishing trip, looking for some old person attention.

Nope.  I don't need attention.  My eyebrows garnish enough by themselves.  Yesterday my wife and I went out on our Weekend Eve date, because our regular Weekend Eve (this will be the topic of a future blog - stay tuned) was taken up by a girls night out.  So what did we do?  We got a couples massage...at Fantastic Sams.  That's right we got a couples scalp massage, free with a haircut.  It was pretty romantic.  Hawt Dawg (please see previous post about Long Island accents for translation).  That's right me and Lori out sitting in the waiting area reading Cosmopolitan, Parenting Magazine, and Outdoor Life, you know, to get in the mood for our couples massage.

Oh, let me get back to the topic.  My hair stylist.  I think her name was Brenda.  Asked very kindly if I wanted to have a flat razor shave on my neck.  Nope, that causes rash - I know from experience (cause I'm well aged and experienced at 32 wizened/grizzled years).  Then she asked if she should trim up my out of control eyebrows.  How do you take that?  How do I take someone kindly offering to trim my jangly eye brows?  Thankfully?  Appreciatively? Heck no.  The jerk of a woman, insinuating that I need my eyebrows trimmed.  Old men have bushy eyebrows.  Not me.  I'm 31, and not old.  Wait did I say 31?  I meant 32.   So I told a bunch of guys at work today about the story.  They weren't surprised (and that kind of offended me too).  How long have I been running around with bushy eyebrows and didn't know it?  Perhaps I just couldn't see it when I looked in the mirra, because maybe I just can't see very well,  or maybe I just can't see past my eyebrows.  My new slogan: Eyebrows are for dads, and harry ears are for grandads.  I earned those eyebrows.  Do not cut those off lady.  She didn't get a tip.

Seriously I told her not to cut them off.  I'll go home and do it myself, after I'm done crying and finish looking for my pride.

See the picture below (notice my eyebrows intact).

Anybody leaving comments should ask my wife for a blog.  I do all the heavy lifting in this relationship.