The real estate of a man's face is sovereign territory, and any attempt to go there without the express written consent of Major League Baseball is tantamount to trespassing. Okay, granted, she's standing over me with a sharp implement and asking a pointed question, but I could still take her. Her elbow is right in my bite-line and her shins are vulnerable. Trim a man's beard. Okay, granted, it's a little wiry.
Beards do that.
You get a wild hair or two and bingo, you've got character. It says tramp steamer, Foreign Legion, Aconcagua. And then in my head I get this picture of Charleton Heston. And that's how the women are gonna do it to us guys, one scissor snip at a time until one day we up and find we're no longer the masters of our own cheeks and chins. Don't think I just sit here in my little room unawares.