Odd Facial Hair Configurations And Other Stuff

Give a man a day off, and chances are that he and Mr. Gillette are going to be having a time out.  I have not shaved since Friday, except for my neck, which itches if I don’t.  I now am sporting a 3 day pre-beard, neatly trimmed above my cheekbones, around my mouth, and below my jawline.  This has caused a local sensation.

In the boudior: “C’mere, ya scruffy little cub!”  Note: facial hair can be employed to good effect during intimate moments.  Or in other words: “Good Christ, if you shave that off I’ll kill ya!”.  My blue eyes got some compliments too, as though he hadn’t really noticed them before.

With a kitty: Edmund and Lucy are fascinated.  Not only do I get the curious face paw, Edmund has been marking me as his by rubbing his face on mine. 

In the lobby: Straighties Ellen and Debra are flight attendants for JetBlue.  They see handsome men every single day.  I went to get my mail and there was a decided tone to their “Helloooooo!”, and I caught the words “working out”.  I have been doing nothing of the sort.

At the barber, where I got my usual very short buzzcut, Russian Mike said “I’m not touching this.  Looks good. Real good!  I clean up for you, but really you should keep.”

In the supermarket – ok, I dressed up a little, but a mom with a toddler ogled my ass and the cashier became a flibbertigibbet.  I had no choice but to wink at her when she handed me my receipt. She giggled and ran her hand down my arm.

This does not make me confident, since The Beard is coming off tonight.  It’s far too high maintenance and while it adds desired structure to my round and moonlike visage, I can’t babysit it twice a day.

But I have to say it’s fun.  Countering the slob factor of skipping a shave or three by cleaning up your neck and evening out the top line works wonders, as does a nice shirt and shiny shoes.  I wasn’t going for the look of a long haul trucker or Zach Galifianakis.  More like Andrew Lincoln in The Walking Dead, who is one of the sexiest men who ever took a breath. (And if Jon Bernthal cast a wayward eye my way, there would be big trouble in Casa Crocker.)  Jon Bernthal is all kinds of fine.

“Ya look good.  I’m a lucky fucker.” Thus spake Cap’n Crocker, and there was a rib-crunching hug to go with it.  You try making redskin potatoes and brisket when a beautiful, honest, brave, crazy, funny man says that to you.  Just try it.  Your potatoes will look like Legos and your brisket will be second-rate.

And he won’t care.