Immodestly, the list of things I do passably well is long; growing facial hair is not on that list. That's on the other, longer list of things I am embarrassingly pitifully bad at. Happily, as I age, I find that my face follicles have filled in some spots that couldn't sprout an hour's worth of peach mold when I was younger. Unhappily, it's mostly gray now. Here's a photo of how I look after a few days' growth:
Just kidding! That's way too lush and dark and ruggedly handsome. In all honestly, here's how I really look:
Just kidding again! I wish I could grow a beard so luxuriant and macho. Sadly, I think I could quit shaving for years and not end up looking one-twelfth that manly. This is how I truly look, for real this time:
No kidding, that's really me. Took that picture just this morning.
I'll be waiting for you when you get home, honey!
7 comments:
To this day, I can re-ignite my children's night terrors with a simple mention of our nation's 16th President. When my kids were young I would frequently sneak up behind them and whisper "ABE... LINCOLN!" as I rubbed my corn broom-like chin against the backs of their necks.
Still works well on Captain Girlfriend, though my current state of sartorial attentiveness leaves me to mumble "Emmett Kelly!" before the attack.
Unhappily, it's mostly gray now.
Hey. Watch it, bub.
I've had a beard almost continuously since I was in my mid-20s. The "almost" refers to the time in the mid-80s when I shaved it off and the next day the department secretary dubbed me "Man with Too Much Face." Never tempted since.
Facial hair -- specifically a moustache -- becomes something of a detriment in winter, when you can look like Yuri Zhivago after five minutes outside. Not too good during corn season, either, except that you don't have to butter the third ear because you've stored up enough from the first two that you can just kind of roll the cob as you eat.
On the other hand, it does a nice job of prolonging a pint of stout, and that is not to be despised.
No worries about accumulating moustache ice in Northern Calif, Mike. Leftovers, sure. But that corn-buttering thing? That's just gross.
Four days in, my experiment in hairy manliness (or manly hairiness) is an unmitigated disaster. I look like the illegitimate child of Emmett Kelly (thanks Jim!) and Buddy Ebsen. I actually dressed nicer than usual this morning so that when I go out later today I'm not arrested for vagrancy. I'm not sure whether I should shave before Karen gets home tomorrow or save it for her. I'm afraid she might never look at me the same way again; this is the kind of revelation that could end some marriages.
Brian, you still have a few hours left to ponder surprising Karen with the Lex Luthor look.
Shave it.
~ Karen
P.S. Looking forward to seeing you too! XXOO
The "Lex Luthor" it is!
Gosh, I hope that's what she meant.
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