A Man and his Beard

         The relationship a man has with his facial hair is not unlike the relationship he has with his woman.  When he begins to grow his facial hair it is very new and exciting.  Everyday he can’t wait to see his facial hair.  He is uncertain about how, but is certain the stubble is somehow going to change his life, alter who he is.
         
         As the days go on the man has some trouble growing accustomed to the beard ALAWAYS being there.  It causes him some discomfort and makes him feel odd around his friends. 
         
         Are they ok with the beard?  Will they still accept me, and treat me the same; even though I am in the midst of what may be a major change?  I know I’m going to catch some shit for this one.
         
         But soon enough the facial hair truly becomes a part of his daily life.  He comes to realize that the beard may be more important than any friend who doesn’t accept it.  If they don’t like it, to hell with them. My beard and I are happy together. 
         
         After some time the man has a reality check.  The man sees that the beard has become somewhat unkempt.  It is a little shaggy and rugged. The initial beauty and excitement has somewhat diminished.  It is no longer pure joy.  A choice is to be made.
         
         If the beard is to be kept, there must be a commitment.  A lot of time and effort must be put forth to maintain the proper illusion, to keep man and beard happy.  The man must ask himself, how much do you love the beard?
         
         And so there stands the man, staring into the mirror contemplating his future.  The trimmer rises to beard and begins its work to salvage the relationship.          
         
         For weeks the man is diligent in his effort; trimming three times a week, washing if necessary, and always willing to look for and fix faults.  The times are great.  He receives compliments on his beard, goes out on the town with his bearded friends, even having a beer in a biker bar.  He is happier than before, and everyone around him notices his radiating confidence when he walks into a room.
         
         In time, however, the man grows complacent.  The beard begins to feel like an old friend.  Where has the excitement gone, the passion?
         
         One day as he walks down the street in his neighborhood he notices people pointing and staring.  Confused, he looks behind to see what the people are gawking at, and catches his reflection in the side view mirror of a Hummer.  The man looking back is not the same man he’d always known.
         
         He’d grown lazy and started to ignore his beard.  Once again he is at a crossroads.  Recommit or bail?  He studies the beard patiently and weighs his options, but decides to put off the decision for another day.
         
         In truth he has grown to hate his beard and it’s ever growing demands.  In revolt he simply ignores it, hoping it might get better with time, or just be gone one day when he awakes to shower.  The beard grows even worse and he begins to look like a sociopath.  The decision can no longer be put off.  To salvage the beard it must be reworked from the ground up.  No, it looks to him to be unsalvageable.  He decides it’s over, and quickly shaves the beard trying to lessen the pain.
         
          The following days are tough.  He feels empty and naked, and notices how his friends and family look at him sadly.  He tries to act normal but often catches himself rubbing where his beard once was.
         
         In time the pain passes and the man can’t remember why he ever loved the beard so much.  He is better off clean-shaven, he’d tell himself, let the bearded men do all the work. He could spend his evenings watching the ball game with one of his clean-shaven friends instead of primping himself in the bathroom.  Beards, who needs ‘em?
         
         Then one day it happens.  In a drunken stupor he stumbles home and falls into bed.  The next morning he awaken to a light coating of stubble, and old feeling arise once more.