The More Things Change...
The Husbandly One has shaved off what little was left of his beard.
I say "what little was left" because his beard had been shrinking over the last few years, not from lack of hair, but because of personal comfort, I guess. When I met him twenty two years ago, he had a full beard, though it was neatly trimmed. He wore a beard, he told me at that time, because he got tired of having to shave twice a day.
Yes. THO's hair grows at a phenomenal rate. He could be clean-shaven on Friday, and be practically back to a full beard by Monday. Almost. I mean, look at two summers ago, when we had yet another triple digit summer, and he'd gotten tired of his long hair, saying it felt like he was wearing a wet mop on his head. He cut it short, then immediately regretted it. I told him to just not get it cut and by the same time next year, it would be the same length, and you know, that's exactly what happened.
*shakes head*
What's really funny is THO is the first man with a beard I'd ever dated. Oh, I'd been asked out by guys with face fungus, but... I always turned them down. Why? Well, I was always nervous around men with beards. Blame the Blonde Sister. Remember, she's thirteen years older than me. My parents treated my sisters, especially the Blonde Sister, as Built-In Babysitters™. They'd go out to some of the more adult focused American Legion Post events (my dad was a WWII vet), usually taking the Flaky Sister with them because she was "out," so to speak, and leave me with Blondie. You'd think she'd do kid oriented things like... read to me, play games, or just put me to bed and ignore me while she chatted on the phone to her boyfriend or something, right?
Nope.
See, she wasn't allowed to watch horror movies on TV when the folks were home, so, of course, when they were out, she'd pop popcorn and scan the TV guide for a horror movie and decide to watch it. However... she couldn't stand to watch them alone, so... she'd make me sit there and watch it with her!
Thus began three-year-old Auntie's unreasonable fears of giant radioactive ants, mirrors at night, being alone in the bathroom, fat cannabilistic women, slime, decorative ponds in the yard, extremely realistic statues, and last, but not least, bearded men.
Why bearded men? Because... bearded men always turned into werewolves!!
My parents never could understand why I would run and hide from bearded men, or why I would squeal in terror if any of them so much as tried to touch my hand. From the mailman to one of my dad's coworkers who was really a very nice man who loved children and was always building the most fantastic toys for his coworkers' kids, it didn't matter. I was utterly convinced all men with beards, with one notable exception, were potential werewolves who, despite how nice they seemed, were actually drooling at the thought of a delicious child to munch on. Even one as skinny and scrawny as me.
The notable exception, by the way, was Santa Claus. Santa was safe I mean, he didn't have a bushy beard! It was long, luxuriant, and soft!! There was no way on Earth SANTA could be a werewolf!!
So, it's pretty funny, when you think about it, that I met THO and fell in love after five minutes of conversation!
After we'd been dating for a while, THO, who was working for the university we met at, wanted a better paying job and had an interview come up for a position at the campus library. He told me about it, and warned me he was going to have to shave his beard off. And I was like, "Okay, no problem," not really thinking about what it meant, because I was busy with classes at the time. And he said he would come by my parents' house to let us know how it went afterwards.
So, I'm at Mom's, deep in a project for my graphics class and was dragging her to look at it for an independent opinion when a strange man walks up to the front door. My parents rarely kept the front door closed. They had a storm door that they kept locked but open for light. So I see a strange man walk up and grab the storm door handle to just... walk in!! I went into full battle mode, pushing Mom behind me and rushing to the door to ... I dunno, smash him with a lamp? His eyes went wide and he said, in THO's voice, "What is the matter with you??"
I froze and said slowly, "THO???"
And he said, "Who else were you expecting??"
He looked like a complete and total stranger!!! He looked so... utterly different without a beard!!! And... I didn't like it one single bit!! It was a good thing his beard grew back in fast!!
So... a few days ago he said, "I think I'm just going to have to start going clean-shaven."
And I thought, "Oh, he's finally had enough at work," because he's been pretty miserable at his job over the six months, but he's kept at it because... it's a job, it's secure, and he's not crazy. So I said, "Oh, you're thinking of job interviews?"
"No," he said. "I've got a lot of silver in my beard and... it's depressing. So... I'm just gonna shave it off."
Heh. Well, I know what he means. I have a silver streak coming up in the cowlick over my forehead, and the other day, I was twisting up my hair into a bun and was stunned to how much it had grown, and that I had another one starting in front of my ear. Of course, I feel like I earned those silver hairs, thanks to my two harum-scarums, but I will admit to a moment of thinking, "Maybe it's time to start coloring my hair..."
*snorts*
Anyhow, it's ... strange... seeing THO without a beard. In all the years we've been married, the only times he's been beardless has been when he's gone on job interviews, a total of maybe... five times. And that was only for a few days.
And that beard was getting progressively smaller, too. First a full beard. Then it was trimmed nearly to his jawline, a sort of short boxed beard. That lasted a few years. Then after we moved here, it became a sort of Van Dyke. And over the last few years, it was sort of a ... minimalist Van Dyke, trimmed very short and almost non-existent until the end of the day when it had grown back.
And now it's gone. It feels very strange to kiss him and not have bristles brushing against my face. In fact, it feels like I'm having an affair!! I'm kissing a naked face that feels totally unfamiliar, and I have to open my eyes to make sure it's THO I'm kissing and not, say, Raul, the cabana boy.
Not that we have a cabana, but you know what I mean!
I'll get used to it, and I've stopped giggling when I kiss him, but just barely.
I kinda miss my Curly Wolf, though...
I say "what little was left" because his beard had been shrinking over the last few years, not from lack of hair, but because of personal comfort, I guess. When I met him twenty two years ago, he had a full beard, though it was neatly trimmed. He wore a beard, he told me at that time, because he got tired of having to shave twice a day.
Yes. THO's hair grows at a phenomenal rate. He could be clean-shaven on Friday, and be practically back to a full beard by Monday. Almost. I mean, look at two summers ago, when we had yet another triple digit summer, and he'd gotten tired of his long hair, saying it felt like he was wearing a wet mop on his head. He cut it short, then immediately regretted it. I told him to just not get it cut and by the same time next year, it would be the same length, and you know, that's exactly what happened.
*shakes head*
What's really funny is THO is the first man with a beard I'd ever dated. Oh, I'd been asked out by guys with face fungus, but... I always turned them down. Why? Well, I was always nervous around men with beards. Blame the Blonde Sister. Remember, she's thirteen years older than me. My parents treated my sisters, especially the Blonde Sister, as Built-In Babysitters™. They'd go out to some of the more adult focused American Legion Post events (my dad was a WWII vet), usually taking the Flaky Sister with them because she was "out," so to speak, and leave me with Blondie. You'd think she'd do kid oriented things like... read to me, play games, or just put me to bed and ignore me while she chatted on the phone to her boyfriend or something, right?
Nope.
See, she wasn't allowed to watch horror movies on TV when the folks were home, so, of course, when they were out, she'd pop popcorn and scan the TV guide for a horror movie and decide to watch it. However... she couldn't stand to watch them alone, so... she'd make me sit there and watch it with her!
Thus began three-year-old Auntie's unreasonable fears of giant radioactive ants, mirrors at night, being alone in the bathroom, fat cannabilistic women, slime, decorative ponds in the yard, extremely realistic statues, and last, but not least, bearded men.
Why bearded men? Because... bearded men always turned into werewolves!!
My parents never could understand why I would run and hide from bearded men, or why I would squeal in terror if any of them so much as tried to touch my hand. From the mailman to one of my dad's coworkers who was really a very nice man who loved children and was always building the most fantastic toys for his coworkers' kids, it didn't matter. I was utterly convinced all men with beards, with one notable exception, were potential werewolves who, despite how nice they seemed, were actually drooling at the thought of a delicious child to munch on. Even one as skinny and scrawny as me.
The notable exception, by the way, was Santa Claus. Santa was safe I mean, he didn't have a bushy beard! It was long, luxuriant, and soft!! There was no way on Earth SANTA could be a werewolf!!
So, it's pretty funny, when you think about it, that I met THO and fell in love after five minutes of conversation!
After we'd been dating for a while, THO, who was working for the university we met at, wanted a better paying job and had an interview come up for a position at the campus library. He told me about it, and warned me he was going to have to shave his beard off. And I was like, "Okay, no problem," not really thinking about what it meant, because I was busy with classes at the time. And he said he would come by my parents' house to let us know how it went afterwards.
So, I'm at Mom's, deep in a project for my graphics class and was dragging her to look at it for an independent opinion when a strange man walks up to the front door. My parents rarely kept the front door closed. They had a storm door that they kept locked but open for light. So I see a strange man walk up and grab the storm door handle to just... walk in!! I went into full battle mode, pushing Mom behind me and rushing to the door to ... I dunno, smash him with a lamp? His eyes went wide and he said, in THO's voice, "What is the matter with you??"
I froze and said slowly, "THO???"
And he said, "Who else were you expecting??"
He looked like a complete and total stranger!!! He looked so... utterly different without a beard!!! And... I didn't like it one single bit!! It was a good thing his beard grew back in fast!!
So... a few days ago he said, "I think I'm just going to have to start going clean-shaven."
And I thought, "Oh, he's finally had enough at work," because he's been pretty miserable at his job over the six months, but he's kept at it because... it's a job, it's secure, and he's not crazy. So I said, "Oh, you're thinking of job interviews?"
"No," he said. "I've got a lot of silver in my beard and... it's depressing. So... I'm just gonna shave it off."
Heh. Well, I know what he means. I have a silver streak coming up in the cowlick over my forehead, and the other day, I was twisting up my hair into a bun and was stunned to how much it had grown, and that I had another one starting in front of my ear. Of course, I feel like I earned those silver hairs, thanks to my two harum-scarums, but I will admit to a moment of thinking, "Maybe it's time to start coloring my hair..."
*snorts*
Anyhow, it's ... strange... seeing THO without a beard. In all the years we've been married, the only times he's been beardless has been when he's gone on job interviews, a total of maybe... five times. And that was only for a few days.
And that beard was getting progressively smaller, too. First a full beard. Then it was trimmed nearly to his jawline, a sort of short boxed beard. That lasted a few years. Then after we moved here, it became a sort of Van Dyke. And over the last few years, it was sort of a ... minimalist Van Dyke, trimmed very short and almost non-existent until the end of the day when it had grown back.
And now it's gone. It feels very strange to kiss him and not have bristles brushing against my face. In fact, it feels like I'm having an affair!! I'm kissing a naked face that feels totally unfamiliar, and I have to open my eyes to make sure it's THO I'm kissing and not, say, Raul, the cabana boy.
Not that we have a cabana, but you know what I mean!
I'll get used to it, and I've stopped giggling when I kiss him, but just barely.
I kinda miss my Curly Wolf, though...