The Cobbler is growing his hair out. If I were the sort of person I ought to be, that wouldn't even be a subject for a blog post (at least not here, where I am supposed to be philosophical).
Because I am who I am, I teased him about it for a week. And then God smacked me upside the head and told me to stop being such a brat.
You see, I am perfectionist to the extreme. If you want it done right, you do it my way. And in my world men have really short hair. This could be because in my world most of the men are ex-military, but for whatever reason none of the leading males in my life drama had ever so much as let themselves get a little shaggy about the ears.
When I met the Cobbler almost three years ago, he had short hair. It's gotten progressively longer since. And I've gotten a bit more tolerant of what I affectionately refer to as "hobbit hair," but I draw, or drew, the line at ponytails.
And then, as mentioned above, God smacked me upside the head. So I decided to let it go. And I'm not writing this post to draw attention to my nobility. If anything, I'm writing it to draw attention to just how shallow I am. My boyfriend is above reproach in every way that matters, so I pick on him about his hair because I'm such a nag I have to find something to give him a hard time about.
I'm starting to realize, though, that being right isn't always...well, fun. Satisfying. Sometimes it's better to let something go. Not use it as a bargaining chip ("If I let you do this you have to let me do this other thing..."), not file it away to bring up later when you're mad about something else. Just let go. Because, believe it or not, some things aren't worth making a fuss over.