March 2012



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Mar. 11th, 2012


Sun poured through the bathroom window, which aside from being nice and warm, cast Feanor's face in a very welcoming light. The other fixtures in his bathroom weren't nearly as good a light source in comparison, and he decided that he was glad he'd come to the decision to think about the topic at hand during the day. He'd thought about coming to the decision to think about the topic a few days ago, but had decided not to think about it, then. Today was just perfect for it. It was the very right day to decide to do things.

He took a good, long look at himself in the mirror for a while, pondering the problem at hand, which was his beard. He wasn't at all certain he was old enough to have a beard, and to be honest, he wasn't at all sure why he should feel that way. He wasn't really all that old, and younger men than him and taken it upon themselves to grow beards - even around here in this area, on the tv shows, the younger men in school chasing around girls had beards. They couldn't possibly be old enough to have beards! Alas, however, they had beards, and so did he.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't shaved it off, except that he thought maybe the beard looked good on him. He leaned back a bit and turned his head this way and that, took off his hat, shook his hair out, then put it back on. There wasn't a single way he looked that looked bad with a beard, but was he old enough to have a beard, that was the question. He paced the bathroom a bit.

"This really shouldn't be a problem," Feanor muttered to himself, "I wish I had a picture from before, or that I could make a copy of my face and then shave it off, look at myself in the mirror, and decide then."

No such machine existed, though, and while some part of his brain started muddling through the way in which one would build a machine like that, the rest of his mind got back to work on deciding to decide about the beard. After another few minutes of staring at himself in the mirror and scratching the beard at various angles that all looked handsome, he finally decided something.

"I need an opinion," he decided, then walked out of his bathroom and started scanning the immediate area. His house was fairly good sized, but he'd made it a point in knowing where any of his cats could be found at any given point in the day. He rounded a corner and through the living room, changed the channel from Lifetime to Bravo, smirked at the catty women clawing at eachother's faces, and headed into his bedroom.

"THERE you are!"

Feanor pointed accusingly at the maine coon cat laying on his bed. The cat looked up at him completely innocently, and Feanor just hmphed in return, "Don't look at me like that. I need an OPINION, Finn."

Without further ado, he picked the cat up in his arms and walked back to the bathroom. The cat had the sort of long-suffering look on its face that implied he'd been through this too many times to complain very much about the treatment, which was good. Feanor wasn't going to let him get away until he'd gotten the opinion he needed, after all. He headed for the bathroom, and when arrived, held the cat up in his hands until the cat could look at his reflection.

"What do you think, Finn? Am I getting old enough for a beard?"

The cat looked up at him like he thought possibly his owner was going crazy, and let out a tiny little mewl. Feanor nodded, "Yes, I think so too. Nice call, Finn. I knew I could trust you to make the right decision."