I like that kid

I never have had a military haircut in my life; but last week I decided I was curious to see what I looked like with a boot camp haircut and my red Magic Johnson moustache and beard. (Jess and Jenny want me to grow my moustache long on the ends so that I can wax and curl it like a nineteenth-century Russian dandy, but they are doomed to disappointment.) Accordingly I headed to the barber for an instant-weight-loss treatment, and emerged looking...well, disconcertingly old. I had no idea the furrows on my brow were so deep. And, of course, when you have gotten rid of most of your hair, there's nothing for people to look at but your face. In a case such as mine, this means that getting rid of most of your hair is a strategic error. Which reminds me of the limerick that President Eisenhower used to recite:

As a beauty I'm hardly a star
There are others more handsome by far
But my face, I don't mind it
Because I'm behind it
It's the folks in the front gets the jar.

Anyway, I went to church the next morning. One of my favorite teenagers took one look at me, marched up, and without preamble asked, "Mr. Pierce...did you lose a bet?"

And now you know why Justin is one of my favorite teenagers.