Hair Supply

     So I started growing this thatch on my chin back in May when I started this new and wonderful job of mine, and I was really ill prepared for the trials and tribulations to follow. Ok, sure, it’s just a beard you say, but I submit that it is not, for it has a mind of its own. You have to understand that any patch of hair on my person ends up looking and feeling like a Brillo pad and could, for all intents and purposes, be used to scrub messy pots and pans. It is thick, it is rich, it is course, and it is very very nest-like. Have you seen the episode of Family Guy called Brian Wallows and Peter’s Swallows where a batch of birds move into Peter’s huge beard? Yup, it’s like that only, currently, without the wildlife. However I could see many forms of fauna taking up residence at any moment, for it is lush and moist.

     Anyway, this beard of mine has become a bit like a pet. No, seriously, stop laughing nd let me explain: it bites on occasion especially when I’m trying to maintain its lusture by combing and brushing it like a hairy puppy. I get the little bits caught in the tines and it rips free like a hot-waxing. I seriously almost shed a little tear every time because it just stings so damn much! I have to wash it, much like a pup, with care since just after I wake up it looks like someone hosed me down with brown Silly String as well and I have to use like a soft shampoo or something similar, you know, pamper it like some movie harlot with so much care. Geez Louise I have a problem.

     Oh, and then my little darling children like to yank on it like it’s some kind of fun toy. Whoopee! And let me tell you how that feels… well, it feels bad. In fact, just the other day, I was on the floor playing with block with the Terror Trio when, out of the blue, Addison lunges at me like a rabid badger and ensnares my tender jowls in her little talons getting full masses of my beard hair with it. She was cackling with glee and had a look of insane fury in her eyes as she tugged with reckless abandon at my poor little face. I had to use a plastic spoon as a shoe horn to detatch her from my person yet she struggled to maintain control like a giddy spider monkey. Oh, yes, she found it hysterical that I was openly weeping as she tenderly plucked bits of my facial fur from her finger nails maniacally. Good times, that.

     Now the last time I actually grew a beard on purpose was for our wedding nearly eight years ago and that thing looked like something out of Sherwood Forest, which, as it turned out, was a good thing since we had a Medieval wedding anyway. But now, for some reason, things seem so much different. I guess it’s because I care more and I suppose, in all honesty, I’m trying to grow it as big as I can just for a larf. But I gotta tell you, it has become a job in itself for the upkeep alone. I try to pick out the tangles and the little knots on a regular basis, but I feel kind of like a sissy doing so and, lookin in the mirror, I even look like a debutant only in reverse… and much more strikingly handsome.

     The other day on the way to work I was nonchalantly combing my fingers through the gnarly bush when something surprised the heck out of me. As my fingers slowly drug their way through the underbrush they came upon something that, when prodded, moved back. Ok, this was weird, I’m certainly not accustomed to things shifting position when poked jerking around my face, but there it was. Seconds later after I recoiled in horror and almost drove into oncoming traffic, a little bug plopped out onto my lap and flew out the window. That was a tad unnerving, to say the very least, but I guess that’s the price you pay for sweet, sweet facial hair.

     So, all in all, I have a cool beard and i guess I do look a bit like Grizzly Adams or something. Mabe when this mess grays in I can get a second job as Santa Claus.

     “Ho Ho… OW! Get your hands out of my beard!”

Stew