Humor
I’m your Overgrown “Playoff Beard,” And We Need To Break Up
Freedom is but a clip away
It’s been a few years, and I forgot all the whacky rituals that you adopted to support your team towards victory. Your decision to grow your beard during the hockey playoffs was a noble choice. One that I can’t help but endorse, normally.
But now I want out.
When your office job said you had to shave, I thought I’d seen the last of you. Then you told your entire office at a morning conference that your commitment to “your team” was more important than your paying job. I was kind of proud of you. I also thought you were an idiot, but in the most charming way possible.
When you were looking for more office work, I felt uncomfortable the way you stroked me in the presence of that female HR team, mainly because my split ends were showing. Yeah, we can get split ends, and it hurts my feelings you never notice.
I thought you’d see the error of your ways and cut me out of the picture after seven failed interviews… I mean, I’m fine taking one for the team (our team, not the hockey team). But when you plucked nacho cheese out of me and ate it at your last interview, I knew we had a problem.
