Friday was a long time coming this week, but that should come as no surprise. Friday is always fashionably late, if not downright inconsiderate.
But, really, it is our own fault for expecting too much from Friday when its mercuriality is well documented. Why, if it weren’t for Friday’s unreliability, I would never had had a reason to take up my trusty thesaurus and find how to substantivate the word “mercurial”.
Still, I’ve never been one to pass up an opportunity to kiss a gift pig in the mouth, with or without lipstick (the pig, not me).
I also once counted my chickens before they hatched, but I soon realized that I was just counting eggs, and not chickens at all. I’m happy to report that all eggs were present and accounted for. I was going to give the good news to the chicken, but by then it had already crossed the road and was out of earshot.
So, let us celebrate the capricious Friday we have been gifted! It was a long time arriving, and is with us but a short time. In that regard, it is not unlike a package we received via the U.S. Postal Service, only to find out it was mis-delivered, and was really for our neighbor.
Many of you may be wondering (I felt “agog” was too strong a word) about what Biff will be doing this weekend. Well, as many of you know, this is Father’s Day weekend, and so I expect a lot of good things to come my way.
For instance, there is a yard in need of mowing that has my name written all over it. (Darn kids!)
Also, it has come to my attention that there is a bathroom sink drain that would benefit immensely from having its primary artery unclogged. This is a job for Doctor Biff! I shall plumb the depths (or is it plunge the depths?) of modern plumbery (plumberianism?), cry “Havoc!” and let slip the clogs of war! (Or — more than likely — hair.)
Speaking of hair (not the musical, for it is protected by strong copyrights), today marks my 100th day since my last haircut.
That is just over 3 months for those of us who are calendar-impaired.
To put that in perspective, I used to go every 2 or 3 weeks. And I used to keep it trimmed to about an inch long (2.5 cm). Now it is about 3.5 inches long (8.9 cm)
I am quite liking this shaggy look of mine. For the first time since high school, I can run my fingers through my hair. However, I avoid doing that, because my hair is so curly that my fingers often become snagged and it takes me ten or twenty minutes to extricate them.
I have often wondered over the past few decades if I could re-grow the beach-ball sized afro that I had in high school. The logical part of my brain would always say, “no way!” But the hair-brained part of my brain was more optimistic. Unfortunately, since I work at an ultra-conservative and staid company, letting my hair grow out to more than about an inch would have been considered seditious.
“What will he do next?” they would ask incredulously behind their mahogany doors. “Tie-dyed Oxford button-down shirts? Platform wingtip shoes? Bell bottom slacks? Smoking hashish in the break-room? Playing the sitar? Love-ins in the supply closet?”
However, I have been spared their concerned speculations by the fact that all of the top brass at my company are sheltering in place out by their pools and underneath their palm trees and so cannot actually see me. What few of my co-workers there are who are unfortunate enough to have to go into work (like me) are looking similarly shaggy.
I’d like to keep growing my hair out to see just how long it will grow, but even now there is considerable pressure to get it cut by those who have to look at me on a daily basis. However, I am resisting their dour looks and head-shaking and tsk-tsking.
This Samson has no intention of being Delilah’d.
That’s just not my vibe, man.
Besides, I have my first sitar lesson next Thursday.