And why, I asked my mirror image, did the sighting of a UFH (Unwanted Facial Hair) inspire the same level of fear and loathing as a dead rodent? Was the hair really that awful? Hadn't he ever seen a mini-beard in the making and if not, couldn't he just for once have a little empathy? Control his visceral reaction to the hair that ate Manhattan?
It was at this moment that I realized that my husband had no intention of reigning himself in. He was going to continue on in his burgeoning career as an insensitive and insufferable bully when it came to facial hairs or anything else he found distasteful about me. And I realized that I either had to accept this fact or make plans to move on.
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I started making plans. I was uncertain what I would do next or how I was going to reconcile the growing feelings of loneliness and abandonment within my marriage. The only thing I knew for sure was that the hair, in all its tangled beauty, had been my wake-up call.