My boyfriend told me to start this blog. Usually when he suggests something I let the idea mature for at least a year, like a good cheese. During this time the problem that he was hoping to solve for me festers until it reaches the point that something has to be done, thereby saving me the mental energy of having to decide to act on a non-urgent issue. So I hope it’s a pleasant surprise to him that this time I took action with a delay of barely six months.
He really means the world to me, and I think this can be measured by the quality of our arguments. Not for us the heated flinging of accusations about the washing up or the laundry. Not for us the cold bringing up of past transgressions such as leaving the toilet seat up repeatedly. He simply goes into the bathroom, shaves his stubble into some ridiculous shape, and comes out wearing a smile. I rise, like a trout to a fly (or so the trout thinks…), and we’re off. He is the Swelter to my Flay.
So just to let you know, my darling: I will have my revenge for being forced into action. In my waking moments, whenever I have some spare time, when I used to idly make up stories in my head, now I will have a purpose. I will use this blog – a powerful platform, as I think we can all agree – to mock moustaches, belittle beards, scorn sideburns. My facetious comments on facial hair will turn the tide, and by the time we reach November, there will not be a beard left in Shoreditch.
I hope your follicles are quaking.