a post about the hairs on tool man's chinny, chin, chin

I've made little secret of the fact that I'm a big fan of goatees. There's something about that tuft of chin-hugging hair that makes me a happy, happy girl. Men, by their very nature, are a handsome lot, but when you slap a wee bit of hair around their grin, the hotness factor - at least in my Book O'Hotness Factors - rises.

Interestingly enough, I'm not as enamored of actual goats. For reasons I dare not even dwell upon, every goat I've ever encountered has hopped up on me in some kind of twisted mating dance that makes me shudder to think about. Seriously. OK, I guess I'm going to dwell upon it here for just a second - I once attempted to interview a goat farmer for a newspaper article (just the type of gripping news that made me an award-winning journalist), and after an hour spent failing in my ability to take any notes because the goats were forever humping my calves, I had to beg her to see the madness of the situation and ask if we could go inside her home, where, swear to God, the goats peered in the windows at me with their mysterious eyes. It was creepy, and, best of all, I reeked of goat when I finally left. Will you ever see me in a petting zoo? No. No, you will not.

(of course, sometimes goatees can also stink, too, which is a sad fact I'm well aware, thanks to the the fromage-tinged funk my Tool Man sports after enjoying any meal where cheese is involved)

My Tool Man's had a goatee for quite some time (he also had a kid-toucher mustache when we first met and our second date was contingent upon that hairy caterpillar crawling away)(ah, a few paragraphs in and I'm really painting a fabulous picture of my love, but wait, it'll get better). A few weeks ago, I noticed he hadn't shaved around his normally well-kept goatee, but I chalked it up it to being the weekend and him not wanting to take the three minutes he typically spends on daily grooming. By the middle of the week, I stopped him in the kitchen, waved my finger around his face, and inquired as to what was going on there between his nose and neck. "Oh, my....you're growing a beard, aren't you?" I asked, to which Tool Man responded affirmatively by smiling through the sharp follicular daggers poking from his pores.

OK, here's some examples of those who rock a full-blown beard:

• Any of you reading this who have beards
• Any of you with beloveds bearing beards
• Santa Claus
• Jesus
• Gandalf and his alter-ego Professor Dumbledore
• Sasquatches
• Hagrid
• Jim Morrison
• Uncle Jesse from the Dukes of Hazzard
• Bret McKenzie
• The Wild Thing from Where The Wild Things Are
• Chuck Norris
• The Burger King king
• Anyone who has ever denounced the government, taken up refuge in a remote shack, and/or penned a manifesto
• Yosemite Sam
• The Beatles circa Abbey Road and/or Let It Be

There are, of course, many more who can sport the full face of fur well, but I think the above list gives a fair representation. I know you're probably asking yourself why I didn't include two-thirds of ZZ Top on my list, and I think the answer is obvious. Sharp dressed men? No. Those aren't beards so much as they are distractions, and I fear, if left to his own devices (which apparently no longer include his beard trimmer), Tool Man could be heading for distraction territory.

OK, honestly, he may already be setting up camp in distraction territory and renaming it Beardsville, because I, for one, am quite distracted by this new accessory he's sporting. Why? Well, for one, his hair is dark, bordering on black. I call it brack, for it dances a fine line between brown and black. However, his beard has grown in quite red. Some would say it's rust belt (and some who would say that better get that reference and dig it like I do). It's difficult to look at him and not find your eyes locked simply on the face pelt he's sporting. "My eyes are up here," he'll tell me when he's been speaking for awhile and I've not responded because I'm so mesmerized by the leprechaun hair he's growing.

If Tool Man weren't so camera shy, I'd share a photo of him and his furry face friend here with the rest of you. Alas, I can't do that, so I've included an artist's rendering of his beard so you can see what I'm dealing with. This was drawn hastily (and shortly after Tool Man had a hair cut), and I'll admit, I am no one's idea of an artist. My red marker started to go dry halfway through my process, which is a shame, because the beard is QUITE red. I should also note that my Tool Man isn't quite as cherubic as this drawing would lead you to believe, nor does he look like a vintage Fisher Price little person. Nor Keanu Reeves.

In case I've not made my case here clear, I'm not a fan of the full-blown beard ON MY TOOL MAN. If you have one, trust me, I'm good with it. However, on Tool Man, it's become the topic the majority of our conversations, most of which include random queries as to it's itch factor, length of stay versus length of growth, and it's impact in the romance department. Even the kids, without any prodding from me, have gotten in on the campaign to curb the beard.

"So, how long do you think you're going to have that thing?" our oldest asked the other night while we were enjoying dinner as a family.

"Who knows," Tool Man responded. "Maybe for awhile."

"But it's nearly summer!" our youngest chimed in. "Your face will get hot. No one wants a hot face!"

(amen, little man...amen...)

"Maybe I'll become a trend setter!" Tool Man replied.

"Like that time you bought a silver minivan and then noticed everyone on the road was also driving silver minivans and you proudly declared it was because we'd opted for that over the red one?" I asked.

"Maybe," Tool Man said.

"You have a bit of noodle trapped in your facial flytrap there by your lower lip," I sighed.

Short of shaving him in his sleep, I think we're forced to look at his beard for awhile longer, and you can imagine that during every minute of that awhile longer that ticks by, I'm cursing Tool Man's light sleeping habits (although the plus side in that? no Rumpelstiltskin beard!). I'm also using that time to be very cognizant of any stray chin hairs that pop out on me (sigh...), because paybacks can be a hairy bitch, and if Tool Man ever learns what a blog is, he'll bust me for busting on him.

Seriously, though, if he goes to kiss you after having eaten pizza at any point in the day, ask him to go wash his face first. You'll thank me. Then you'll join my army of razor sharp allies working to clip this beard in the bud.