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So Many Messages, So Little Time

Ian has lately taken to complaining when I don't shave. That is to say: I don't shave every day, as my whiskers are as lazy as the rest of me. It's usually fine. I'm not one of those guys who have to shave twice a day or they'll have a full beard in an hour. So I usually only shave every three days or so. However, when I tuck the lad in at night and lean in for the hug'n'kiss, if my whiskers have sprouted, he has something to say about it. Usually he points and says "Whiskers hurt! Ouch!" in a dramatic fashion. It works tho', as I go and shave right afterwards.

There's probably a message here.

On the other hand, I came from work only to discover (well, Lisa pointed out) that I had been wearing my shirt (your basic three-button collared pullover) inside out. I had been wearing it like that all day long. AND NO ONE SAID ANYTHING TO ME. There's likely another message here as well.

On the third hand, Ian didn't mention my inside shirt to me either. There's almost certainly--well, you get the idea.