M commented wistfully this morning about finding a way to separate my hair from his running bandanas. Apparently my stray hairs are trapped and then when he uses them to wipe his eyes he thinks some bug is flying around, but it’s only a stray hair.
It could be so much worse. We could have adopted a collie or an afghan as a pet and let it roam freely through the house. This despite the fact that M does not want an inside pet. Still, it could be worse. I had much longer hair when we met, so it’s not like he can change his mind now, 20+ years later.
I feel for him, I really do. We vacuum almost daily and I try to keep my hair brushing, blow-drying, and flat-ironing to my bathroom and swiffer away the strays when finished. Still, they are everywhere. While I am sympathetic to his plight – M shaves his head – I do not feel guilty. This is the price one pays for having a wife with longish hair. Since shaving my head has been ruled out as an option, I have grown philosophical about it … as in, suck it up and deal, M.
Ah marriage. Such a joyous thing.
Happy Sunday everyone.