Spring Shearing

[stoutfellow]

With the return of warm weather, I have performed my yearly ritual. What was a mane of shoulder-length hair has been cut back to an inch, inch and a half, and a five-months growth of beard has gone into the trashcan. (I kept the mustache; I always do. I've had that mustache, except for two brief intervals, continuously since I was thirteen.) The "before" picture bears a distinct resemblance to Karl Marx, though with rather less gray; the "after"... doesn't really remind me of anyone. (Sue Reynolds once suggested a resemblance to Emperor Gregor Vorbarra, but ol' Greg is described as being tall and thin...)

For some reason, Murphy gets very excited every time I shave, especially the first one of the year; he insists on giving my freshly-bare chin and neck a thorough licking. Ben gets into the act too, but he doesn't quite understand what the fuss is about; he settles for licking a free hand, a knee, or whatever else is in reach. I don't understand Murphy's reaction, either; is it oils, or perhaps a faint trace of blood that attracts his attention? (Lord help me if I'm ever badly cut while he's around, if that's the case...)

Classes tomorrow. We'll see how they react. That's always fun.