Chin

Chin: (n) the protruding part of the face below the mouth

I liked my chin so much I ordered a double, and am considering acquiring a third.

A chin is a most unfortunate piece of the face. Too much responsibility is placed upon it.

Some people request that it be chiseled. It’s difficult to do that with something made of flesh.

Out of the clear blue sky, a chin can be accused of being weak. What exactly constitutes a weak chin?

It’s used in athletics as a way of determining that we’ve “crossed the bar”–lifting ourselves.

Then we are informed that we are to “take it on the chin”–the question immediately being, take what? Are we speaking of lotion, or a fist?

Since lips are sloppy, chins often get dumped on. They have to deal with excessive slobber.

It’s not easy being a chin.

You seem to be holding up a face, but nobody appreciates you because they’re too busy talking about eyes, nose size. Sometimes ears even get higher billing. (That could be because they’re higher.)

Everybody wants to French kiss, but what would it be without the chin? Where would you get the leverage to push that tongue into its appropriate position?

Chins seem to suffer with acne. They’re bespeckled for most of the adolescent years.

So it’s best to assume that a chin is supposed to be rugged, upward thinking–yet soft enough that it doesn’t scratch the face of someone who wants to get close for a kiss.

Some people put hair right in the middle of it and call it a goatee. Or is that a soul patch? Wait! Does a chin have a soul? Or is it just a patch, growing one?

I am grateful that I’m not a chin, because if I were, I would constantly be bewildered as to what was expected of me and how I should respond.

So I guess the only answer is: “Chin up.”

 

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Altogether

dictionary with letter A

Altogether: (adv.) 1. completely; totally 2. Including everyone or everything

There it is.

Right before my nose, sprouting before my eyes, available for my brain–but completely unaccepted to this point.

Yes, not until I looked at the word did I realize how it works. For truthfully, the word “all” has to lose one of its “l’s” to get “together.”

The word is not spelled “alltogether,” with every letter intact. You have to get the “l” outta there.

In the process of achieving togetherness, all of us will have to forfeit something.

It’s simple. It’s powerful.

And our only responsibility is to make sure that we don’t ditch … what’s important.