I’m on vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror in the condo my parents rented for the week. It’s late October, 2009 – over the course of the week, it will feel like I’m the only tourist in town who doesn’t qualify for AARP membership. I’m surprised by the amount of blonde hair in my mustache and beard. In my apartment at home, the lights aren’t this bright and I can only see myself from the shoulders up, so having visual confirmation of what the waist of my jeans has been telling me for months is kind of jarring. I don’t remember being this pasty and hairy and lumpy.
I put on a shirt. (more…)