It’s happened. I look in the mirror, pained by the baby on my face. The winter blues have come and gone, and now, with a fully furnished and equipped baby-face, I get ready for Green Beer day.
Last night I trimmed off my beard. It was silent, the wind howled at my window, and the electric shaving machine I put to my face made an inconsolable howl at the garbled mess of facial hair. I picked up the scissors, sizing up my beard like a warrior for battle. I sharpened it; Skyrim’s grindstone appeared next to the john. Cut a litte here, cut a little there: I cut that thing for more than an hour, grabbing pieces of long, flowing, beautiful beard-hair and clipping it at its head. But it wouldn’t stop growing. Soon, the beard grew the size of the bathroom, fluffing me around as a waterfall of beard poured out the door and onto the street, enveloping everything in its path.
I wake and sit up suddenly. Cold sweat is on my face and I have a cigarette ashtray for a mouth. I mutter to myself, surprised that I’m naked…again. I wonder aloud if I was really that hungover, and then I touch my face. The beard, the once lively brother for the past four months is gone, reeked by the clean razor feel on my throat and neck. “I did it,” I think. No more beard nuzzlings, no more high fives of beard pageantry, no more hippies idling over how long I’ve grown it and if it’s “really that big”. “My god,” I think, “it’s gone.”
The time to de-beard has come. Have you seen it? The weather outside speaks of God: flowers and life resume their natural order, I resume looking at every beautiful creature walking with sunglasses, moccasins, and bare skin. I flaunt a striped hoodie and walk around uptown with green shades, looking for ‘dem space ladies, as we say. I check my account balance and realize the government has sent me over a grand of money. Thank you Obama, you are always welcome to be my president. I see the Green shirts, girls cackling out of car doors, shaven faced boys falling over themselves, and it’s only five o’ clock. I see the God men on the corner near Baker, shouting off about sinning as I snub my cigarette on the ground. A kid walks up with a V for Vendetta masks and screams that they’re hypocrites. The God man looks upset, and he’s also not wearing any green. I walk by smoothly and then see a look-a-like of Liv Tyler. My God, those legs. Did you see her in One Night at McCool’s? If you like pretty women in that sort of “I’ll tease you and you’ll never get it” sense, then that movie is for you.
Green Beer day is shoved in my face. I had a hard time believing that these kids are doing it, and I mean doin’ it. I remember how I was young once- painfully awkward, hoping that anyone and everyone would give me attention. I would be drunk right there with them, sipping whiskey at the bar and mumbling harassments to my friends. Today though, has been a long time coming.
I went shopping yesterday with my friend from the Other Place. Seeing as how I have no idea of what to wear, she picked out some rad shirts and a few pairs of jeans. Safe to say she was my boo, but then I got to thinking, do girlfriends do this for their men? Are men effected by a woman’s choice of clothing?
The answer is yes, undeniably. Girls dress their men all the time, and thank the heavens, because let’s face it, sometimes I dress ridiculously. I don’t know how to match, I refuse to wear the same color sock, and my apparel is otherwise lacking. But, women just seem to have a knack for the fashionable. That, and black people. Yeah yeah, you’re thinking that’s racist, but I’m being legit, my black friends have way better style than I do, it’s undeniable. How am I going to pull off a backwards cap and leather jacket? That stuff is dope!
Anyways, I’m off subject. The point of this article is simple, to de-beard. Why, you may ask. Well, the answer is simple. IT’S SPRING! Cut that beard, put on some spring clothes, and admire the women in the flower dresses and shimmering hair. Put on some Toms, maybe some Mocs, and hit the street! See you out tonight, and oh yeah, come to the Union, I’m reading some poetry. Peace!
Want to see a baby face? Look no further. And yes, that’s prom.