You ever get one of those hairs that dangles down into the corner of your peripheral vision? You clumsily fumble for it with one of your grubby mitts but you come up empty. Eventually you examine yourself in the mirror to figure out where the wayward hair lurks.

Or maybe you feel like you've got something on your arm or leg, like perhaps a spider (the jumping kind!). You shriek girlishly and slap at your limbs.

That's what having a beard is like. I'm constantly thinking "Gah! There's something on my face!" Turns out, it's my crappy ass beard. Every time. Plus, there are other new beardly issues. Last night, after having a tasty dinner consisting mostly of pot stickers, it was time for me to take Daisy to Tae Kwon Do. I stopped by the bathroom mirror on the way out the door to check my beard.

"Just making sure there's no food in my beard!" I called out to Hank.

"Ewwwww!" screeched Hank.

"It's ok!" I yelled reassuringly, "There was NO food in there."

"Just the idea of food in the beard is disgusting! I hadn't even thought about your beard getting food in it. That is nasty!" she shuddered.

"It's not nasty. It's funny. I'd love to find a pot sticker hanging off my face. That's funny."

Hank was not amused. Daisy busted up. She gets me.

Anyways, tomorrow I depart for the Great Pacific Northwest, for an epic male-bonding trip. I'm bringing flannel shirts, poker chips, and the finest facial fur I've ever grown. I'm also bringing my laptop for surreptitious blogging. I can type very quietly.