Confishion

I only enjoy cured salmon. The thought of eating a sick fish is very unappealing.

I'd have to think about that

I am guilty of often feeling frustrated, annoyed,  - nay, even contemptuous - at my patients who are unable to give me a clear description of their symptoms:

How long have you had this for? Oh a fair while now. 

So do you think days, weeks, months or years? I'm not sure, but it's quite a while. 

And does it affect your left leg or your right leg? Oh I'd have to think about that. 

What medication do you take for it? A little white one I think. Or maybe not. 

And so on. 

So it was a character-building exercise for me to get a haircut recently and find myself incapable of understanding and answering the questions that the hairdresser was asking me, despite having had my hair cut in the same way now for about 15 years. It was quite humbling. 

Do you have it square or tapered at the back? Mmm, square I suppose. I think. 

Do you want me to feather it up to the part or leave it longer? Oh I think leave it longer. Oh, actually now you've done it, can you feather it instead?

Is this where you part it? Yes I suppose it could be. 

Do you want me to trim your sideburns or just trim your sideburns? Ummm, just ... trim them?

Is your hairbrush runcible and if so would you like me to not frapp your kokks? Ummm, just ... trim them?

Honestly, I felt like a moron. 

What I don't understand is why, presuming my hair grows X millimetres a month, why I can't just turn up to a hairdresser every 6 weeks and ask them to shorten each hair by 3X/2 millimetres. Is there some kind of hair growth/cutting hysteresis which distorts the whole process into a chaotic nonlinear shambles? Actually, looking in the mirror each morning that seems pretty likely. 

How long has it been since your last haircut? Oh a fair while now. Or maybe not.