Raindrops on whiskers and warm woolen kittens
Hovering a few degrees above freezing, it rains. I do not like this weather. It's too cold to wear my raincoat and it's not cold enough to turn to fluffy white goodness. The umbrella, my umbrella, unfolds with such enthusiasm like it misses me and needs a hug, but I can't. Umbrellas are space invaders and not the arcade kind. Sidewalks, escalators, personal bubbles do not take into account two umbrellas passing in the dreary night. One must bend. "Good evening, kind sir," it bows failing at its one job for a moment to pay respect to the higher class. The bulbs pass and return to attention, an umbrella in service. All fine and good, except that I'm wet.

Fortuitously, or with great inner fortitude, I don't feel the raindrops that collect in the mass of hair on my chin. I'll have to dry them later, but for now I'll celebrate my natural balaclava. It has more powers than water resistance it seems. In a weaving, billowing sort of way, it also has the power to bring out true feeling. I know this because today a coworker dropped in and as we were discussing our holidays happened to mention that she didn't like my beard. The subtlety of her comment could have been missed by some, but "I don't like it," hit a chord with me. "It makes you look older," she continued. There may have been some light backtracking after that, but I missed most of it. As I reflect on this statement and sometimes stare at my own reflection, I have to wonder a few things. First of all, why isn't facial hair afforded the same consideration as weight, fashion or hair style? I don't know of very many coworkers who would just come out and say such a thing about a new haircut. I've always thought that I admired the blunt reaction, but I've come to realize that some things can probably go unsaid. "That shirt makes you look like a killer whale," might be one of them. I'll keep thinking on it to be sure. And also listen to The Beards. They like it.