Morning conversations with Myladylove can be lively, serpentine, and only occasionally winnable, as illustrated by today's example.
Her: Are you growing a beard?
Her: Okay, what's that stubbly stuff on your cheeks?
Her: So you did decide to grow a beard?
Me: No, I didn't.
Her: Then why are little hairs fuzzing your face?
Me: I decided to not shave.
Her: Cause and effect! Same thing.
Me: No, it's not.
Her: What's the difference?
Me: Deciding to not shave was a choice. Growing a beard wasn't.
Her: You're word weaseling.
Me: Simply setting the record straight.
Her: Now you sound like a politician.
Me: The world's second oldest profession.
Her: I thought that was lawyers?
Me: Often one and the same.
Her: Let me get this straight…you showered in the morning?
Her: Brushed your teeth, combed your hair?
Her: But balked at a shave?
Me: That's correct.
Her: So this other part of a beard isn't actually a beard you're growing?
Me: What you mean by other part?
Her: You have the mustache part already.
Me: Mustaches and beards are entirely separate things.
Her: They're both hair on your face!
Me: So are eyebrows and sideburns.
Her: You're quibbling with details.
Me: Merely stating facts.
Her: We're discussing facial hair. Sideburns are part of a haircut.
Me: Some men extend their sideburns across the cheek into their mustache.
Her: And when sideburns get onto the cheek or chin, they're beard!
Me: Elvis's sideburns weren't part of a beard.
Her: Elvis's sideburns didn't end up under his nose, either.
Me: Yesterday was Elvis's birthday.
Her: What's that got to do with your beard?
Me: Anyway, beards and mustaches are different categories of facial hair.
Her: They're the same to me.
Me: Not to the Amish.
Her: I'm not Amish, and neither are you!
Me: That's true.
Her: What's also true is that you can be truly exasperating!
Me: I agree. I exasperate myself frequently.
Her: You sure get picky over terminology.
Me: I'm a writer. Words are precise tools.
Her: And lots of writers grow beards.
Me: I'm not growing a beard!
Her: Hemingway, Tolstoy, Whitman…
Me: Old guys.
Her: You're a fairly old guy.
Me: But not geriatric!
Her: Not yet. Perhaps getting reasonably close.
Me: You really think I'm becoming decrepit?
Her: No-o-o, you're just a fiesty, curmudgeonly, geezer.
Me: Whatever. Those writers were from a different era.
Her: So not attempting the old-school literary look?
Me: Absolutely not.
Her: Or the the arctic explorer look, because of the snow and cold?
Me: I'm not attempting any look!
Her: How about a northwoods look to go with the flannels?
Me: Fine. I'll shave today!
Her: It's okay—you can grow your beard regardless of the reason.
Me: I'm not growing a beard!
Her: Now you're getting testy. Besides, I'm just messing with you.
Me: Really? Why?
Her: 'Cause it energizes me before going to work.
Me: Can't you just rely on caffeine like everyone else?
Her: Nope. You're more fun.
Me: Glad to be so usefully stimulating.
Her: You sure writing isn't the world's second oldest profession?
Me: Frankly, at times I feel a remarkable kinship to the first!