I'm ready to shave this thing off. It's FUR on my FACE. It feels weird when I walk in the wind, it feels weird when I eat, and it feels weird when my face moves, like for example, when I breathe.
Furthermore, I keep getting glimpses of my moustache of out of the corner of my peripheral vision, which causes a constant "WHAT THE HELL IS ON MY LIP, OH IT'S MY MOUSTACHE" repetitive internal monologue. That's a lot of yelling going on my head.
However, although I normally do not like to brag about how I look, or about compliments that I get on my appearance, I'm going to make an exception just this once. Here are a set of completely unedited comments I have received on my beard the last few days:
Ella: What's with the beard? I mean... it's really... interesting!
Liz: Oh. That's just silly.
My mother: It's not that I don't like beards. I usually like them. Just not yours.
(Let the record show that my mother is probably one of the top 10 sweetest people in the United States. She is relentlessly supportive and my biggest fan. The above statement may be the first negative thing she has said to me since I took a rake to my sister's favorite dress when I was 3.)
So, uh, I think this baby is coming off.
My daughter, however, still pleads with me to keep it. We had this disturbing conversation:
Me: I cannot wait to shave this thing. I'm gonna do it on Wednesday.
Daisy: Nooooooooo! (making her market-tested sad face)
Me: Sorry. Three weeks is long enough.
Daisy: Okok, at least do this for me. When you shave it off, shave it into a cup, and then pour that cup into a bag for me, so that I can keep it.
Me: You... want... to.... keep.... my... beard... trimmings?
Daisy: Yes! (beaming)
Me: In a bag?
Me: You are a weird little child. Are you going to make a voodoo doll of me?
Daisy: What's a voodoo doll?
So, anyway, today and tomorrow I see some coworkers that I rarely see, so I'll let them enjoy my once-every-40-years-or-so beard, and then I'm shaving the bastard off, and not into a cup either. Creepy.