One morning not too long ago, Connor woke up to discover that at some point during the night, he had grown a tail.
This put a bit of a kink into his usual morning routine. And when he wasn’t able to cover up the tail with clothing or otherwise make it unnoticeable, he called off sick from work, figuring he was going to need at least a day to deal with this new development.
The way he chose to “deal with it” was by spending most of the day freaking out, and then, late that night, making the rash decision to cut off the tail himself.
It wasn’t pretty, and after a short night of fitful sleep, Connor awoke the next day to find that the tail was back–fully grown.
Another day off from work spent freaking out followed by another night which ended in another fevered and messy tail-cutting later, and Connor awoke on the third day…again with a new, fully grown tail.
He could not comprehend why this was happening to him, or why the tails kept coming back. But on that third day, Connor resigned himself to the fact that it was, in fact, happening, and that his only option from now on (or for as long as he kept growing tails) was going to be for him to start each new day by cutting them off.
And he made peace with this new reality rather quickly. The whole thing was decidedly weird and inconvenient, to be sure, but when all was said and done, it was just hair.
Wait…you didn’t know that by “tail”, I meant a thin, long strand of hair growing from the back of his neck? That hairstyle that was briefly in fashion in the 1980s?
Oh, MAN–you probably thought I meant “tail” as in an animal’s tail, as if the guy was slowly turning into a cat or something.
And you know, come to think of it, THAT probably would’ve made for a better story.
Then again, eh–what can I tell ya? I wrote what I wrote.