"Daddy, you should grow a beard."
I stared at her. This was maybe her worst idea yet.
First of all, I'm incapable of growing a beard in a reasonable amount of time. Although my hair is full and lush on places like my ass (Ladies, call me!), it's kind of patchy on my face. Second, I've got a few gray hairs poking out into my beard, and nothing screams "OLD MAN!" like a graying beard. Third, I haven't purposely changed anything about my appearance or wardrobe since I was old enough to dress myself. I see no reason to start now.
Basically, it would take me months to grow a respectable beard. During the interim, I'd look like a prematurely graying pubescent with horrible fashion sense.
"Ok," I replied.
It's been that kind of week. My personal projects, like the baseball program, have been going poorly. My favorite coworker, Pablo, is leaving me. I might as well grow a freaking beard.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" cried Hank. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"You've gotten a say in this for the last twelve... however long I've known you. It's Daisy's turn."
So, after 5 or 6 days, I've got this:
I know. Pathetic. That's why I've been beardless for the last several decades. Still, I may keep it around for a bit longer. On Wednesday of next week I'm departing for a long weekend with "the boys". After sitting in my mother in law's house for over a week earlier this month, I said to myself, "Self, you need a real vacation. And a crappy ass beard." So, I accepted an invitation to hang out with 9 old coworkers from Hewlett Packard, where we'll do man/geek/geezer stuff like play drunk frisbee golf for 4 days.
If I show up with the world's worst beard, at least it'll give us something to discuss.