This month I've been particularly frisky. I could go ahead and blame my ever fluctuating hormones for this so I could save myself some sort of embarrassment, but that's not the cause of my perkiness.
Today is the last day of Movember and the month of men growing facial hair ends tomorrow. All about the internets men have posted photos of their scraggles upwards to their Grizzly Adams and I've been lusting in my heart for most every one of them.
Beards are sexy. Yes ladies, they are. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a soft beard making contact with every outside inch of skin on your body. Slow, close and lingering contact. My husband calls this the gift of beard and you can only imagine the thank you notes I've written and hand delivered afterwards.
This whiskered joy ended prematurely for my husband last week because he shaved off his beard for a funeral. I admit I've liked kissing him without his beard thrusting itself up my nostrils but I'd gladly suffer a sneeze or two when he grows it back.
Justin keeps the hair on his face tidy. (Except for that time in college where we couldn't afford to trim his beard which helped with his radical poet image.) Check our bathroom sink on any given weekday morning and you'll see just how tidy he keeps it. Since I'm the one wiping out the sink later in the day, I think I deserve some say in some new and exciting styles for his beard.
Our love will last forever and a band about the finger...or about the head...symbolizes this:
With our mutual Utah heritage, where down the line I can prove my husband and I are cousins, nothing is more attractive to any saint than this example of cleanliness next to godliness:
An excellent summer beard, for when corn in the cob is in season or when sweating under your boobs makes you itch:
A beard for the conversationalist:
There is a beard in this photo. Really, there is:
Lastly, my husband is the entire package. He's brains and bod. A reflection of his character in beard:
All that image searching and photo posting has me tingly.
I'll let you all leave me to my own devices now. There isn't enough beard to counteract the smell of the smoked oysters my husband ate with soda crackers.
His flavor saver is gone, thank Moses.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
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