You know — hey, you know how when you decide to — well, first you decide to write something in second person in order to deflect attention from you, the writer, a fairly see-through attempt to make this story impersonal and universal and not about you, and by “you” I mean “me”? So you know when you try to re-grow some dotcom-era facial hair in order to cover up some of those chins and there’s that awkward week-plus (depending on your virility) where the facial hair isn’t really all there yet and it looks patchy and sparse and ridiculous and maybe like dirt? And you spend the whole day talking to significant others and co-workers and members of the foodservice industry and no one mentions the face-dirt but a couple people do reflexively scratch their own chins while talking to you, maybe as if they think it actually is dirt and are trying to subtly hint that maybe you should take one of those computer-monitor-cleaning moistened towelettes and give yourself a once-over, maybe? Or maybe they’re like: Did I shave as poorly as this rube? Did I accidentally miss a whole swathe of my face because it was early this morning when I was shaving and I wasn’t totally present, mentally? Let me feel my face and make sure, because I certainly wouldn’t want to parade around the office — parade around THE PLANET EARTH — with that sort of look. You know..?