Beard VS. No Beard

My beard.  It is gone.  It has been cut off.  My bushy display of peacock maniless has been shorn, it's feathers gathering at the bottom of my sink.   A full beard that looked like it should be in a window of Macy's.  4 and 1/2 months of growth detailing the winter season, telling the story of the darkness and cold in which we all lived.  I shaved it off.  I thought it was time. 

Hossmom looked at me after I have finished shaving.  She had a disappointed look, a look that tells me something is wrong but she is not going to tell me what it is.  She doesn't want to tell me, she wants me to figure it out.  I want Denise Richards from the movie Wild Things.  She looks into the sink and then looks back up at me. 

Dear God what have I done?

With a beard:  Women mistook me for the "bad boy".  The rebel that surely has some sort of motorcycle around the corner.  It's not street legal of course because fuck you that's why.  Yeah, I'm a bad ass. 

Without a beard:  Hi!  I'm Mr. Suburban Dad!  I like to wear brown things and eat green things.  I drive a sensible minivan and I would like fries with that. 

With a beard:  Black is the color of my soul and my t-shirts.  The blackness hides my pain, my deep scars.  I'm complicated, I struggle with feelings in a world not designed to handle them.  Feel my muscles.

Without a beard:  Black is icky and so depressing.  I like sunshine yellow and rule following!

With a beard:  No, you can't come into the bouncy house.  The PTA lady said you have a wrist band, you have no wrist band.  But you do have a problem and that problem is the bearded man in a black t-shirt guarding the bouncy house doors.  How you want to handle this problem?  Feel my muscles. 

Without a beard:  Hey kid, come back here!  You have no wrist band, you can't go in!  Don't ignore me kid!  I'm going to tell your mom!  Kid!  Kid!  Screw it, where's my words with friends so I can spell the word muscles. 

With a beard:  I'm going to sit on this park bench watching my children play.  What am I thinking?  Deep thoughts, thoughts that ordinary individuals can't handle, they are to deep. The Depth of these  thoughts are deep.  You know that they are deep thoughts because I am stroking my beard. 

Without a beard:  I'm going to sit on this park bench watching my children play.  What am I thinking?  About my next kidney stone.  Also, I have to poop. 

With a beard:  Hey man, love your beard!  Looks good brah!  Cool t-shirt with the beard, buddy.  Here, have some money and some honeys. 

Without a beard:  You have a baby face, lose some weight.  No, you can't have any money. 

With a beard:  I didn't even know that you are bald, I was to distracted by the awesome face hair.  Who needs head hair, you obviously don't.  Can I touch it?  Can I clip off a bit, put it in a scrap book and show it to my grandchildren one day? 

Without a beard:  Fuck all you're bald man, look into some Rogaine and for god sakes don't polish that thing, we are going blind over here. 

With a beard:  I will shovel the driveway in -10 degree weather.  It will not effect me, I am immune to the wind.  My beard freezes showing my determination to my family, to my minions.  I squint in the blowing snow.  Bring it mother nature, I own you. 

Without a beard:  AHHAHAHAHHAHAHHHHAHAHAAAAAAA, screw this it's cold.  Good luck getting out of the house honey.  Make me a sandwhich.  Honey?  Sweetpea? 

With a beard:  There is always something to stroke. 

Without a beard:  There is nothing to stroke, NOTHING.  Nothing gets stroked.  Not even a little bit.  Honey?  Sweetpea? 

I know who I am.  I'm Mr. Suburban dad.  I am the rule follower, I do not speed.  I coach kids teams, I help when the PTA lady asks me.  I drive a minivan and make peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches.  I sell girl scout cookies and plan safe family vacations.   I like to wear brown pants and eat green things.  But sometimes I get to be the rebel but only when it's cold, like his heart. 

That and the beard is freaking hot in the summer. 

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