I got a haircut and can prove it

In the interests of full-disclosure and yet with profound shuddering, I append herewith a photo-result of a haircut I got yesterday. I now know what my teacher, Kyudo Nakagawa Roshi, was talking about when I asked to take his picture in aid of an interview I was then writing. "No," he said of the photo. "Why?" I asked. "I am getting old," he said.

And behold, I am old. Inside, of course, I am 35 and full of piss and vinegar... full of smug, male plans and nostrums. But photos don't lie and ... well ... voila! I am old and have the evidence to prove it. Reminds me of one of my life's all-time favorite lines uttered by Mary Gizzy (no shit) about a woman not present: "She's ugly and her mother dresses her funny."

Ugly and his mother dresses him funny.

The sign above the graveyard reads:

As you are now
So once were we.
As we are now,
So you shall be.

Photo evidence calls into question my interior sense of a person without wrinkles and weakness. I wonder where wrinkles go when they want to take a break. Anyway, I have a haircut and it's as close as I am ever likely to come to the shaven head of a monk.

OK... I've 'fessed up now.

Wrinkles ... and, with my teacher (who is dead), I am old.