My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Cousin Anubis needed a shave. He really, really did. Because when his beard starting collecting cobwebs, dragging its tail all along the floor, and spooking the dog because it thought it was a creature from the depths of despair, we all knew that it was imminent. The only problem was that he refused to shave. Ever. He loved his long, rippling beard. He marveled at the colossal strands, tucking them into his pajamas before he went to bed. He washed his beard, combed his beard, buffed his beard, dyed his beard, and even ironed his beard. But all he would do was trim the split ends and the stray whiskers erupting from all corners of his mouth. He never shaved it. My cousin Iris had tried everything to get Anubis to shave. She had tried coaxing, encouragement, threats, punishments, even trying to sneak into his room at night with scissors. She was never successful. Anubis's beard was like a ninja; it hid in the darkness and sprang out to defend itself whenever s

"Porter's good, isn't it?" My son had just sipped his very first beer, of course wrinkling his nose as the rich flavors attacked him. Perhaps I had started him off on too heavy of a drink, but light ales were for sissy. "It's kind of strong," he said. "Eight percent alcohol," I explained. "You planning on trying Guinness in Ireland?" My son smiled. "It wouldn't be Ireland without Guinness, would it, Dad?"