Every year November comes around and every year all the men start beating their breasts about how rad it’s going to be to grow out their mustaches (please don’t, you look like a serial killer pedophile) or beards (don’t leave food in it if you’re able to grow it out – that’s just gross).
In our little household we just roll our eyes because Matt has a beard 365 days a year and I think was able to grow one by the time he was 5. Ok, fine, by the time he was in his late teens/early 20s. In fact his dad still can’t grow one.
Granted, I do get sick of it when it grows past a certain length and then nag Matt to shave it. And by nag I mean whenever I see him, I say “SHAVE IT!” Every.Single.Time. I can be annoying like that.
I bet you he’s going to grow it out after he reads this post. I might have to shave it when he’s fast asleep one day…
But here is my husband’s beard – in all it’s hairy glory.