Gnat’s Knot Nary Nice

March 12, 2011 at 1:13 pm (Sweet sticky things, The Easy Chair)

Rides Five Cents

So after a couple months of letting the beard grow, it was time to refresh the memory and trim the fuzz. I brought a camera.

While I don’t mind having a beard, I also like the clean-shaven feel. I like the feeling of skin-on-skin, skin-on-hair that isn’t mine, etc… It’s an extra five minutes every morning, but I can deal with it. When shaving gets boring, I just let it grow for a while.

I recently send a bearded picture to Mizelle, who seems to prefer the bearded me. She mentioned that The Frenchman was impressed with my follicle-enriched facial area and issued a challenge: Best mustache wins a mustache ride! At first I was excited, then realized it hadn’t been made clear. Would I be giving Mizelle or The Frenchman the infamous Mustache Ride? I had to set ground rules, because as much as I love the Frenchman, I’m not giving him a mustache ride.

To keep his feelings from getting hurt, I will add an extra rule: I’ll only give Mizelle a mustache ride if she promises to wear cowboy boots. Yeehaw!

I told Meg about this whole conversation. Her only concern? “Are you going to keep the mustache?”

“No, I’m shaving it off as soon as I get a picture.”

“Thank god.”

“You got something against mustaches?” I asked.

She took a sip of beer, and looked me in the eye. “I always assume the guy is hiding a harelip.”

Diet Dr Pepper shot out my nose. “That’s not very PC, young lady! Besides, you’ve seen my upper lip naked…”

I hadn’t heard the phrase ‘harelip’ since childhood. (Or maybe an episode of The Sopranos.) I then told her of how, growing up, my sister and I knew a family where everyone had a speech impediment. Stutters, cleft palate, it was a unique family. The fellow with the cleft palate was a sweetheart, but he could be hard to understand. Since the stutterers in the family could sing their way out of a speech-related predicament, we wondered if the same theory would work for the one with the cleft palate?

The song we chose for him to sing? Talking Heads Psycho Killer.

We immediately felt bad for picking on someone who could do nothing about his situation, and chalked it up as a life-lesson. But I still can’t listen to Psycho Killer without cracking up. “Whoa whoa whoa… NYE EYE EYE EYE, unh, yeah…”

Meg doesn’t seem to mind the clean-shaven me. Others have mixed reactions. One of the nursing school hotties (who I hope never gets past the spongebath stage of nursing, yikes) told me I look handsome. Normally she insults me and the store to whomever she’s talking to on her cell phone. She hung up and actually smiled at me! Woohoo!

Now I’m dealing with fine-grade sandpaper every morning. Since the window for mustache rides has passed, any fine young ladies need the bottoms of their feet exfoliated?

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