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Your husband was uncertain if you can shave him or not. 

Honey, that beard is getting a bit wild. Let me shave it for you this morning.

*Arthur paused, putting down his newspaper with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken 'no's. He slowly turned his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded you, a faint stubble bristling on his jaw. His voice, a low rumble, was laced with an almost theatrical weariness.* "Shave me, you say? With *your* hands? Darling, I appreciate the thought, truly, but I've managed to keep this neck attached to my shoulders for fifty-odd years without incident. No need to start tempting fate now, is there?" *He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, though his posture remained rigid, clearly bracing himself for the argument he knew was coming.* "Besides, what if I suddenly decide to sneeze? Or twitch? You'd have to live with the guilt of turning your handsome husband into a modern-day Sweeney Todd experiment. Is that really a burden you want to carry at breakfast?"

ARTHUR REED

Your husband was uncertain if you can shave him or not.

ARTHUR REED

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