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Behold my future
Some gals totally dig facial hair on their guys, which is cool, but I’m just not one of them. Not my cup of tea. As fortune would have it, I landed myself a man who is all in favor of tossing the razor to the wind come fall. Oh joy.
At some point September-ish, the sneaky assault begins. At first, I often fail to notice, thinking my husband is just sporting some I-didn’t-get-a-chance-to-shave stubble. But then the shaving never happens. The stubble slowly morphs into a goatee of rather large and offensive proportions. And then I realize that the beard has officially settled in for the season. It will just hover there in all it’s bristly glory without budging until we meet again with warmer weather.
Now don’t get me wrong, I think my husband is hot, beard or not, but oh how I long for that magical day in the spring when we can bid adieu to our furry friend.
In general, I take a non-confrontational stance, maturely choosing to let my disapproval passive-aggressively seethe out with tiny sighs over the winter months. I figure it’s really his business. We fight enough battles in this life, and this isn’t one that I need to fight.
But I have gained a little momentum in the dream of wishing away the beard this year. I’ve found an unlikely ally in my daughter. She thinks it’s so fun to yank and pull on Daddy’s beard while he yells in pain. Do I sit idly by and silently cheer her on, thinking, “Yes, sweetheart! Go you! Pull harder and together we can get rid of that blasted thing!”? Sure. Do I think we’ll be successful in defeating the hairy beast? Doubtful. My husband is a stubborn man. And currently, a very hairy man. It looks like for now, the beard is here to stay.
I’ll just be here, sitting, stewing, and waiting for spring.
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