It's been 11 months since I've really trimmed my beard. There's been some maintenance along the way, but mostly I've just let it grow and grow and grow. I get compliments in the street. My mother complains every time she sees me.
I wasn't able to form coherent thoughts as I stared. The decision had already been made. The scissors were in hand. I cut. The first snip didn't quite close. I paused as 75% of my beard hung in the balance. Now the thoughts came to me, could I somehow reattach this beauty? The decision was made and my moment of remorse was just a moment. I finished the cut and got out the clippers.
No longer does my beard get stuck when I pull on my t-shirts. I don't have to move it out of the way to sleep on my stomach. Far less food will get stuck and I will better weather the temperatures in the 90s. As I looked at all that hair in the trash, I couldn't help but reach in and touch it one more time. That's the longest my beard has ever been.
In the first 24 hours, I've had phantom beard moments where I thought it was there brushing up against my chest. I've looked in the mirror and seen a thin face staring back at me. I'm sure I'll get used to that guy. He's not bad looking, but I'm not sure he'll get compliments in the street.
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