This philosophy holds especially true when that box is covered in Wookie hair!
Who amongst us wouldn’t want to unleash his inner Chewbacca at will? Who hasn’t longed to let loose with a deafening Wookie roar and shoot at life’s annoying Stormtroopers anytime they had us pinned with our backs to the wall in a dimly lit corridor?
I’m a Star Wars fan to my core, Modern Philosophers. However, I am well aware that I have a design flaw, and a lone missile fired into an unguarded ventilation shaft could set off a chain reaction that would blow up my heart like another Death Star.
And that is why I sometimes feel the need to order my inner Chewie to heel.
Of course, what I’m getting at (obviously!) is that it’s time for a haircut.
Things have gotten a bit unruly up top, and while I normally feel free to let Chewbacca pilot the Millennium Falcon, I sometimes feel the need to conform to the Empire’s stricter personal grooming rules.
Laugh it up, fuzzball, but you know I’m right on this one.
Last week, a disturbance in the Force made me aware that my hair was crossing over to the Dark Side, so I to set up a haircut appointment for today at the new place. As you might remember, my longtime barber died back in December, and I’ve been struggling to find a replacement.
I’ve been all: “Help me, unknown hairstylist, you’re my only hope!”
Let’s face it, when you’re a single guy, you can be a Rebel and not really worry about the hair. Wookie it up all you want because there’s no one to tell you how unruly your head’s become, and how you’re bordering on looking like you’re homeless or about to be placed on a No Fly list.
Then life throws you a curve. You’re enjoying a nice, snowy morning on Hoth, and suddenly, Imperial Walkers decide it’s time for a surprise home inspection.
Much easier on the eyes, but the same destructive potential. (Are you on a first date or under attack by Imperial Walkers?)
Obviously, I accepted, but warned her that her first date was going to be with Hippie Austin since I desperately needed a haircut. I didn’t want to go Full Wookie on her just in case (Yoda forbid!) she wasn’t a Star Wars fan.
So as the night of our first date approached, I did my best to tame my Inner Chewie, but once you’ve let the Wookie out of the box, he is not going back in, Modern Philosophers.
I thought about getting an emergency haircut (first impressions are very important, but never actually do impressions on a first date!), but I searched my feelings, and I realized that such a move would go completely against my First Date Philosophy. Just keep it simple. You try too hard, and you wind up frozen in Carbonite.
As I was crossing the bridge, my date and I were exchanging texts. She told me what she was wearing (not a Princess Leia gold bikini…get your minds out of the gutter!) so I could easily spot her, and for some reason, I texted back that I was wearing a Chewbacca costume.
The Force is strong in this knucklehead.
The texting continued without a hiccup, and eventually, she informed me that she was going to be late. She felt it important to add to her message that this was definitely not because of my hairy situation.
I’ve always hated the interrogation style of getting to know someone, and I prefer to learn about her via regular conversation. That’s the whole fun of it, right? You listen, observe, learn, and trust your instincts.
Like a good Jedi would.
So I took her hairy situation comment and her acceptance of my Chewbacca reference to be a very good sign that we would click.
I believe I was correct. Obi-Wan has taught my well.
Even though there is a time and a place to unleash the Wookie within, I’m still going to get my hair cut this morning.
Sometimes, a guy just wants to look dashing. Like a scoundrel perhaps…