It really hurt me last week, when someone commented on how your beard was bigger than mine. I guess that's what happens when you get older: a lot more pain and learning how to deal with hurtful comments. And truth is, it's true. Your beard is bigger.
I want to run from it, but the fact remains that it is. I gotta be able to look in the mirror and say "hey, we're getting older, and now another brother has a better beard than you." It's just so hard to hear those words from other people, and to hear the whisperings even when they think you're too old to be able to hear them. Well, I can hear, quite well actually, as I've been watching Daredevil and doing a lot of ear exercising exercises.
One advantage of being Daredevil is that he doesn't have to look in the mirror and realise his younger brother has a cooler beard than him. He doesn't have to look in the mirror at all. He also doesn't have a brother, which is sad, because I do, and I am glad. And in spite of the great resentment I have stored up over your healthy facial hair, I have to say that you are one of my favourites. I have also not shaved since that uncalled for remark from the anonymous person (your identity is safe, Zechariah Runkle).
In spite of the overwhelming angst I feel today, I can still say with mostly truthfulness-ish : "happy" birthday, and the one thing that I've wanted to tell you for years is tha
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WHO AM I?
Daddy,
one informed me.
Sometimes when you're not looking, I take sips of your coffee.
Yeah!
the other one chimed in untruthfully.
It's really really good,
she continued.
It's addicting. I think I'm addicted.
Sometimes I feel like the dad equivalent of Derek Zoolander.
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