Help...I Lost My Hevel

I'm sitting in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, mourning the loss of my hevele. I know it's missing, because my friend Susan, who runs the post office down the block just asked me about it. Susan and I have been friends since I awarded her my first Gruntled Post Office Employee Of The Month award. It was a bar of Hershey Dark Chocolate.
She is usually very up-beat and pleasant. But today she looked at me and said, "Why do you look so disheveled?" Disheveled ? Now, I don't take a bow every time I pass a mirror, but on the other hand, I don't think I look like my hobby is stepping on rakes either. And I am in reasonably good health...my doctor recently assured me that regardless of my age, I am still not showing many of the early signs of mummification. And I reminded Susan of what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always says, "It's wasteful to throw a whole face away, just because it's banged up a bit."