Invasion of the Beardy Snatchers


I've been growing my beard back out since Easter. Since I am not a particularly hairy person, it takes about two weeks to slip from the "oh, he must have forgotten to shave today" response to the camp of "ah, it's a beard he's angling for". Having a beard is nice, particularly because it means I don't have to shave. I know I shouldn't complain about shaving, especially since I have an electric razor which works, more or less, and there's no social taboo equivalent to non-shaved legs on women if I get some fuzz. However, anything that makes for excuse of sleeping in later, however infinitesimally, is gold in my book. It's already hard enough to get to work by 8.30. [I can't imagine what it'd be like to have a real job where tardiness isn't accepted. Hopefully, my current employer will keep me around for a bit longer.]

At any rate, Sunday was my two week mark and I'm looking like a quasi-bearded dude. My sister and her kids came over for dinner. The first thing O., a five-year old and my sister's oldest son, said to me, even before "Can we play Super Mario Galaxy" was "How come you don't look like Uncle Lovey?" I guess I look entirely different with the beard. Also, all three of my local nephews are frightened of touching my facial hair. I don't know what they suspect will happen if they do, but it must be pretty terrible.

Relatedly, it's really easy to make young boys a fan of you. Two words: video games. It's fun to have young nephews, not least because I still act pretty regularly as if I'm in kindergarten. I'm on their level, if you will. Though, I have a beard now, so I must be an adult, right?


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