At some point in late November, not sure when–I never remember when–I stopped shaving. It wasn’t intentional. When it comes to facial hair, nothing I do is ever intentional. I just got really lazy (there’s that sloth again). And then I had a beard.
An almost completely silver fox beard. My beard, it turns out, has a lot of gray–American gray, not British bullshit grey. I still have a little ways to go before hitting 40, and my beard is definitely more gray than it is red and brown. Because this was my first multi-month, real beard, I have no idea when it started turning gray.
But then, last week, I shaved it off. Turns out you’re supposed to perform maintenance on a beard once you grow one. You have to trim the mustache back so you don’t accidentally chew on it while eating pizza. And you’re supposed to trim back the neck line so the area under your chin doesn’t become a portable lint trap. No one told me beards would be so much work. And being clean shaven is a lot of work, too. I really can’t win here.