Well, at four weeks, it was a good run. From those first scratchy days of not shaving to the mature phase in the past seven or eight days, when I emerged triumphant, hirsute into my 19th century Russian novelist look. But it was time to go. I'm heading to visit family soon and I don't want to listen to my beloved grandmother go on about the smooth cheeks of her generation, or worse, embarrass my friend--son of conservative family, whose parents already think I'm an immoral loose no-gooder as it is--at his wedding while I'm there.
I'm going to miss the beard though. I'll miss the time it took off of my shower (no shaving!), and I'll definitely miss the look I was sporting in our neighborhood pick-up basketball games of late--when I was rockin' the 70s vibe with my beard and Pistons-blue sweatbands and armbands. Now I'm just another preppy guy with short hair.
It took the better part of an hour to shave it off, in part because I had to amuse my partner with the various possibilities in those stages toward clean-shavedom. First I did the trucker-sideburns-with-goatee look; then the 1970s relief pitcher look with serious handlebar mustache; then my best Rupert Pupkin imitation (a cheesy mustachioed look that left her squealing, "You look like a porn star! It's scary); and then finally, the Hitler/Chaplin mustache afterthought, just to remind myself why that look got put to rest forever sometime around 1945.
Smooth cheeks now. Maybe until fall, when the start of a new semester and a full-time return to my professorial guise might tempt me to let it grow again.
2 comments:
That's too bad. It will probably be cooler for you during the summer months.
And you don't have pictures of ANY of those stages? I'm quite dissapointed. Tsk Tsk. What kind of blogger ARE you?
Pfft.
;)
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