Monday, April 05, 2004

Despair of facial hair.

For the past nine days, I’ve been attempting to grow a goatee.

And I emphasize the word “attempting.”

The problem with this thing is that it has no density at all. It’s so damned patchy. My only chance at growing anything resembling an acceptable crop of facial hair is to grow it out long enough to cover up all the hairless areas.

And that’s the equivalent of an upper-lip comb-over.

I have to admit, the bastard doesn’t seem as hideous from five feet away, but get any closer and you’ll see that it looks more like a sparse growth of cactus needles around my mouth than facial hair.

I don’t know many girls who have much of a desire to make out with pointy plant life.

Whenever I look in the mirror, I’m so disgusted. It makes me want to vomit and punch myself in the face at the same time. It makes me wonder, if I find the thing this revolting, just how nauseated do other people get when they look at me?

I’m shunned enough as it is.

I would have shaved it off long ago if not for my hopes of it somehow filling in. As of now, all hope is gone. There is no chance of recovery. It has suffered enough. I’m going to have to put my goatee out of its misery.

Hopefully, that’ll lessen my own misery.