It was a Sunday afternoon, slightly overcast as it is today, as I decided to get the dreaded act done, and shave off what I had worked to cultivate to earn a little more than minimum wage. I imagine the walk up the stairs of the townhouse we were renting of the time, was like a condemned man walking to his execution. I would not walk out of the master bathroom myself. The entity that would leave the chamber would be only a shell of who walked in.
I did the deed, and shaved clean, not hearing that Sarah, a friend of my wife Haley, had come to visit, and enjoy ice cream and beer.
I walked down the dark, cream carpeted stairway, into the living room, and sat down next to my girlfriend as she drank a Miller High Life, or perhaps it was a PBR, on her old, lumpy futon that doubled as our couch.
Sarah, without interruption ate her lime sorbet and they chatted until it came to a natural stopping point. They greeted me, and jokingly gave me condolences on my parted facial hair. Sarah’s eyes went to her ice cream and her friend, but my lover’s gaze stayed on my bare chin.
“Want some ice cream?” she asked me.
“No, I’m good.”
“How about some beard?” She paused as she realized what was just said. She blushed and made apologies, but what was said, was said, and could not be unsaid.
Luckily, I was relieved of my duties from that job after a couple of weeks, and I was able to grow into myself again.
Pope Crisco
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