The beard is now shorn. So fast does a furry face of four-inch follicles fall. If you have read the prior post you might understand what this simple act entails.
The most readily available reason is that a bushy chin makes it hard to buckle my bicycle helmet, and I am hoping to go on a long ride this morning. The beard also tended to make a non-targeted audience look at me askance. Patty, a cashier at the old KS, didn't say a single word to me on Friday. She would only glance up from her scanning duties and quickly look away. The 4-year-old twin girls at the house where I bought a bigger corner unit (for our newly inherited bigger TV) were clearly unsure if they should even return my silly banter, looking with concern toward their mousy mother. These are merely side-effects of the beard's intended purpose, of course. They should be expected, but they still made me feel more alien than I wished. Who wants to scare little girls or a BBW cashier?
The First Cause, though, is the response I found from S. this morning (yes, in the form of a letter. A crowded, sarcastic, defensive letter). I told her a few days ago why I had grown the beard, that it was a layer of protection for the keeping of the covenant. Her response: I don't care why you grew it. You are still ugly inside and out. Well... Screw it, then. Off it goes! No more scaring little girls! Lots more slight smiles at the attractive ladies in grocery line! I should take the pile of whiskers and make a nice little bed for that gold ring I took off a few weeks ago while doing yard work and which sits still on the window sill.
I do wish I had taken a few pictures first. Especially in that Muhammaden hat, or with my Dangeresque glasses on. Something to remember a winter's growth and truly funky look.
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