Every couple of years, I feel the need to assert my manliness. Not via bullfighting or boxing or modern dance or impregnating my wife, but by going against my non-hirsute nature, disobeying all laws of science, and growing facial hair in some form. In the past, it has always ended in horrible tragedy, but this time, man, THIS time it’s gonna come up aces for me.
After Charles arrived, I took two weeks off from work so that we could try and figure out how to keep him alive (apparently you can’t give them hunks of pork! Who knew?). The second week, after he came home, we were so busy that I barely had time to shower, let alone shave. So, after 5 or 6 days I found that my chin and cheeks and ever-quivering upper lip were coated with a fine downy fluff that my wife refused to kiss, but which was completely invisible to anyone more than 5 paces away. So I went upstairs and shaved off anything that wasn’t part of a goatee and sideburns. Then I realized that my sideburns STILL don’t connect to my hair, so I shaved them off as well. I was left with a festive little beard, which makes me look:
Dashing
Villainous
Quite The Cad
All Of The Above
Sarah, of course, hates it, because when she kisses me I abrade her lips. You judge for yourself.
Dude, LIVE IN THE NOW! You can’t grow facial hair that connects in any meaningful way. The razor is your friend.