a reply to: MoonBlossom
There is nothing more aggravating than someone taking it upon themselves to comment on ones attire or appearance, negatively, without invitation or
permission. It is perhaps telling that it is only ever those who exhibit absolutely no intelligence or sweet nature, who do such things.
And you know, this age appropriate appearance issue goes both ways, and for both genders. When I was eighteen, I lived in a room at the back of a
pub. I would spend all my free time in the bar itself playing pool, drinking ale, and rum, and generally chilling out after a day at work. I was also,
despite my youth, in possession of a rather epic accumulation of beard, and a long mane of hair. Now, the regulars at the bar were mostly elderly
gents with regular seats, practically reserved for their use, middle aged rockers, and a few younger fellows like myself at that time, and all were
pretty accepting of my face fur (although some were only accepting of it because they could barely see me at all, past the booze and the ocular
degeneration associated with extremely old age and decade after decade of alcohol abuse).
But the irregular customers, the day trippers, and the contractors who would work on the towns infrastructure and use the bed and breakfast hotels up
and down the seafront, those folks were not quite sure what to make of me. I would get some jolly strange looks from some people, and thought that it
was just the fact that I was a hairy metal head in a town known for its nightclubs (focused on electronic dirt, i.e. Dance music *hawks, spits*).
This assumption was dashed, when one of these irregular customers, a gentleman in his mid forties I would say, sidled up to me at the bar, and said
"Scuse me mate, I wanna ask you a question". I agreed to hear his query, upon which he asked me how old I was. I told him, and his response was
"Eighteen? Well what the **** have you got a beard like that for then?".
After informing the fellow that that I could see no reason why I ought to have to explain myself to him, a person with whom I was utterly unfamiliar,
and furthermore that my choices in life are mine to make, and mine to know the reasoning behind, I wandered back to the pool table, obliterated the
gentleman's entire group of friends in consecutive games of pool in such a comprehensive fashion that they elected to leave the bar, and continued my
evening as normal
Eleven years later, and I still see no reason to feel obligated to explain my choices in life. They are mine, and mine alone. We are all different,
all us human beings. We all have different ways of going about things, we all think about different things, have different preferences with regard to
dress code, with regard to personal grooming, with regard to our particular favourite tipple, brand of tobacco, religion, politics, and a whole host
of other idiosyncrasies.
I have better things to do than to dwell on these differences over much, since it is our similarities in a lot of respects which bring us to blows
with one another. I still have my hair, and I still have my beard, and they are not and never will be, subject to anyone else's whims than my own. It
is no ones business but my own!
edit on 1-8-2014 by TrueBrit because: Corrected detail which was in error.