I’m growing a beard.
It’s because I’m too fucking tired to shave.
I’ve had a beard before. Or rather, I’ve had about two week’s worth of beardly growth before it becomes too annoying or too scratchy for my wife and I’ve shaved it. Any previous attempts at facial hair growth was purely to put the test in my testosterone.
But this beard might stick around for a while.
See, between the general malaise that seems to envelope you in regards to how you look in the first few months of having a child, I already rise before the sun to go to work. That makes shaving a priority that falls far behind shower, clothes, deodorant, shoes, making coffee, making lunch and the other things I cram into the half-hour I have before I leave the house for the day.
And since I usually employ an electric razor for the job, once my facial hair grows for more than three days, I have to either a) use an old, dull razor or b) use one of my wife’s leg razors. Neither is desirable.
So, I have this beard now.
At least my hair color isn’t black or I’d probably end up on the Do Not Fly list.
I guess the good thing is that it doesn’t look God-awful. But with the rise of hipsters, I might get mistaken for one of those LA kid-raising neophytes in skinny jeans and ironic nerd glasses. That’s what I don’t want.
Now I fully understand Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom. Although he completely gave up and ended up in a plaid shirt or a robe, the beard was his sign of giving up now that he was fully immersed in child rearing.
I don’t quite have that excuse, but I hope this isn’t the first step in giving little effort into how you look. I thought that came after you got married anyways. If I regress anymore I might end up leaving the house naked.
Nobody wants that.