Your wife has done it again.
Cut your hair crookedly.
You don’t need a self-loving mirror to see it. You can see it when you look upward; the left side of your bang is closer to your eye than the right.
Was she not taught how to cut hair properly by her mother?
She has issues with hair, your wife.
She has, more than once, commented on the mustaches of the “English” (non-Amish) men in town. She finds their upper lip hair immodest and offensive – not to mention representational of military aggression.
And she constantly admonishes you to shave the upper half of your beard away. She wants your beard in the style of Old Order Amish – the upper chin clean-shaven, the beard beginning at the lowest point.
All well and good. But you wish she was as attentive to the evenness of your bang. Your cut probably looks more like a spinning top than a bowl.
No matter. No time for vain contemplation. You must dress now. Your wife is dressed. She has dressed the children. You have fed and harnessed the horses, and inspected the buggy wheels for distance. All is in preparation for departure to town.
The only thing not ready is you.