HAIRSHIRT 

        Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery

 
.

 

 

 

 

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Saturday, February 18, 2006

 

Moustache Tales

I wear a beard for a number of reasons. The biggest reason, I guess, is that my wife likes me with one. Way the hell back when we worked together at a bookstore--before we even started dating--I'd grown one of my first tentative experiments with facial hair, a goatee and had gotten sick of it and shaved it off. She made a comment to me along the lines of, "Oh, you shaved your beard" in a tone which implied that she wasn't nuts about my clean-shaven face. I grew it back immediately.

There are other reasons. I have an awareness of my weak chin, which always makes me look like a hillbilly of some sort when I get my first glimpse of myself in the mirror after shaving everything off. Also, like most men, I'm just sort of fascinated by the fact that I can grow facial hair. It has that same kind of "hey, cool" factor as a yo-yo. "Check out what I can do!"

But I get sick of it every once in awhile. I get tired of the same old thing on my face and I look for excuses to get rid of it for awhile, usually not getting rid of the whole thing, but toying around with muttonchops or reminding myself why nobody should wear a handlebar moustache.

Often the shaving catalyst is something gross. Like the time I ate corn on the cob and, failing to properly clean my moustache, got a whiff of rancid three-hour-old butter directly under my nose. Or the time I couldn't properly eat a simple bowl of fucking soup without some of it running all over my face.

Today, I came very close to getting rid of the whole kit and caboodle. I was sitting at the computer ('cause that's what I tend to do) and I sneezed. Just a simple little sneeze. Didn't think anything of it. Until about twenty minutes later when I went to itch my nose and found a clump of snot clinging to my moustache which I'd failed to notice because I couldn't fucking feel it. Ick.

I did not shave it off. But I trimmed the motherfucker to within an inch of its life. And I'm avoiding corn on the cob for awhile.

Comments:
Ewwww.

That Girl
 
Let's never speak of this again.
 
Post a Comment



<< Home

 

 
Links

 

 
           
     
    
.