Another Failed Experiment With Facial Hair

Every few months or so, I decide to grow myself a beard. This is an experiment which never pans out, but it’s something I just keep on trying. And it’s not like I could even really explain to you why I have a desire to see myself with facial hair, because I can’t. It just seems like something I’m probably supposed to try doing at least once in my life. Hell, my younger brother came home for Christmas with a virtual goatee, and I can’t imagine my father without his moustache, so why shouldn’t I give it a try?

Yeah, well, if it were only that simple.

The fact is that I get to a certain point in the process of growing it out where I suddenly become disgusted with countenance, where I can’t stand to look in the mirror, let alone to go out in public. I try to tell myself that eventually, if I give it time, it will look more natural, that I will become adjusted to it, but I never have the patience. My facial hair grows in some spots and not in others, so I end up with large splotches of chin and neck where there is absolutely no hair at all. And if that ain’t weird looking, I don’t know what is.

I really thought it was going to work out this time. The last time I shaved, aside from trimming a few stray hairs from my cheeks, was Saturday morning, right before the baby shower, and, since I’m the only person in my office and I don’t deal with customers all day long, there’s no one to give a shit how I look on a daily basis. The only person I have to worry about is Stephanie, who doesn’t seem to care either way. So, really, there’s nothing stopping me.

Except that, when I looked in the mirror this morning, even after my shower, my face looked and felt dirty. I could see the splotches of bare skin where hair refuses to grow and I just couldn’t take it. So, I shaved and that was the end of it.

Truth is, I just don’t think I’m cut out for facial hair. Stubble maybe, but nothing more than that.