Your mane

It’s not a great mane yet, not like you remember your father’s being, but you’ll get there soon. For now it grows out mostly around the side of your face like great big blonde muttonchops, the top of your head with a somewhat respectable peak of a mane you usually style as high as you can for vanity’s sake. You yawn a great big yawn, a low rumble escaping the deep chamber of your throat which makes some of the ornaments on your bookshelf tremble.

You’re about to go find some clothes to put on when suddenly the door swings open, banging into the wall.