Stubble til the End

*First sentence from "The Vintage Caper" by Peter Mayle

Danny Roth took a final dab of moisturizer and massaged it into his already gleaming cranium, while checking to make sure that his scalp was innocent of any trace of stubble. At this age, women no longer notice your chiseled jaw or washboard abs; they only pay attention to the luster of your scalp. A radiant glow on a man's head is a sign of good hygiene, after all. One can never use too much moisturizer. 

He notices a bit of growth near the back of his right ear. We can't have that, can we? He murmurs. A while back, he had decided that he would rather not show off a receding hairline, nor highlight it further by combing over a few sparse locks. That would remind him too much of his Uncle Tristan, who insisted on plastering what little hair he had left over his ever-growing bald spot, then tying the rest at his nape in a pathetic tiny ponytail. That man was never quite bright, was he? Nor was he good with the women. He picks up the razor and begins to nip at the stubble.